f 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA.  SAN  DIEGO 


3  1822  01961  1698 


if  T"rTIffi,?av£a»s«N.oE, 


3  1822  01961  1698 


Social  Sciences  &  Humanities  Library 

University  of  California,  San  Diego 
Please  Note:  This  item  is  subject  to  recall. 

Date  Due 


SEP  07 1996 


JUH  0  8 


MAR  0  7  2 


UCSD  Li). 


Unforeseen  Tendencies 
of  Democracy 


BY 


EDWIN   L.  GODKIN,  M.  A.,  D.  C.  L. 


BOSTON  AND   NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 

(gfte  ttftrtfibe  press,  <£ambrit>ge 

1898 


COPYRIGHT,  1898,  BY  E.  L.  GODKIN 
ALL  BIGHTS  RESERVED 


CONTENTS 

PAOB 

FORMER  DEMOCRACIES      .        .        .        .        .        .        .  1 

EQUALITY 29 

THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 48 

THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 96 

PECULIARITIES  OF  AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT  .  145 

THE  GROWTH  AND  EXPRESSION  OF  PUBLIC  OPINION  .  183 

THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 226 


INTRODUCTION 

I  HAVE  endeavored  in  the  following  pages, 
not  to  describe  democracy,  —  something  which 
has  been  done  by  abler  hands  than  mine,  —  but 
to  describe  some  of  the  departures  it  has  made 
from  the  ways  which  its  earlier  promoters  ex- 
pected it  to  follow.  It  has  done  a  great  many 
things  which  they  never  thought  it  would  do, 
and  has  left  undone  a  great  many  things  which 
they  thought  it  would  do.  Not  nearly  aU  the 
deductions  from  the  principle  of  equality  have 
been  correct.  The  growth  of  democracy  has  dis- 
sipated a  good  many  fears  about  the  "  mob ;  " 
but  on  the  other  hand  it  has  failed  to  realize 
a  good  many  expectations  about  its  conduct  of 
government.  Nearly  all  the  philosophers,  from 
Tocqueville  down,  and  especially  the  English 
Radicals  of  the  earlier  part  of  the  century, 
would  be  surprised  by  some  of  its  developments. 
No  democratic  state  comes  anywhere  near  their 
ideal.  Unexpected  desires  and  prejudices  have 
revealed  themselves. 


iv  INTRODUCTION 

Democracies  have  discovered  new  ways  of  do- 
ing things,  and  have  discarded  many  old  ones. 
More  particularly  they  have  not  shown  that 
desire  to  employ  leading  men  in  the  manage- 
ment of  their  affairs  which  they  were  expected 
to  show.  In  fact,  that  wish  of  the  people  to 
control  their  own  business,  which  tormented  the 
Old  World  for  so  many  centuries,  has  been  fully 
gratified,  but  the  people  are  not  managing  them 
in  the  ways  that  were  expected.  Nearly  all  the 
recent  writers  on  democracy,  however,  have  as- 
sumed an  inability  on  its  part  to  correct  mis- 
takes, which  the  facts  do  not  seem  to  me  to 
warrant.  Had  it  no  such  ability,  the  future  of 
the  world  would  indeed  be  pretty  dismal.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  error  of  its  friends  in  de- 
fending it  lies,  it  seems  to  me,  in  underestimating 
the  length  of  time  it  takes  a  democratic  commu- 
nity to  find  out  that  it  is  going  wrong  and  to 
acknowledge  it.  It  must  be  admitted,  even  by 
its  warmest  admirers,  that  democracy  is  not  very 
teachable  by  philosophers  and  jurists.  Experi- 
ence counts  with  it  for  less  than  it  used  to  count 
for,  under  the  old  aristocratic  governments,  but 
the  reason  seems  to  be  that  the  experience  of  one 
class  is  seldom  of  much  use  to  another.  Each 


INTRODUCTION  v 

is  apt  to  think  it  will  do  better  by  doing  differ- 
ently. Every  democracy,  too,  is  weighted  by  the 
fact  that  its  new  agents  are  rarely  men  familiar 
with  public  affairs,  or  with  human  trials  in  mat- 
ters of  government.  Those  of  its  advisers  who 
are  familiar  with  such  things  are  apt  to  be  hos- 
tile or  distrustful,  and  are  therefore  not  listened 
to  with  confidence  or  attention.  It  is,  in  fact, 
launched  on  a  chartless  sea,  and  most  of  its 
legislation  hitherto  has  been  mere  groping. 

The  first  danger  it  has  encountered  is  the 
enormously  increased  facility  for  money-making 
which  the  modern  world  has  supplied,  and  the 
inevitably  resulting  corruption.  I  cannot  help 
doubting  whether  any  regime  would  have  with- 
stood this.  The  power  of  getting  money  easily, 
debauched  every  court  and  aristocracy  in  the  Old 
World,  even  when  getting  money  easily  meant 
mere  rapine.  The  demoralization  this  is  pro- 
ducing now,  even  among  the  scions  of  old  houses, 
is  one  of  the  wonders  of  our  time.  Neither  phi- 
losophy nor  religion  seems  to  offer  much  resist- 
ance to  it.  It  is  breaking  down,  not  simply  the 
old  political,  but  the  old  social  usages  and  stand- 
ards. The  aristocratic  contempt  for  money  as 
compared  with  station  and  honor,  of  which  we 


vi  INTRODUCTION 

used  to  hear  so  much,  has  completely  vanished. 
The  thirst  for  gold  seems  to  be  felt  now  by  all 
classes  equally,  while  the  number  of  those  among 
whom  the  gold  has  to  be  divided,  is  greatly 
increased. 

Another  disadvantage  with  which  democracy 
has  to  contend,  is  being  called  on,  almost  sud- 
denly, to  govern  the  large  masses  of  population 
called  cities,  without  any  experience,  either  of 
their  special  wants  or  of  the  means  of  satisfying 
them. 

Our  civilization  has,  as  has  been  said,  be- 
come urban  within  the  present  generation,  almost 
without  our  knowing  it.  Democracy  has  there- 
fore been  suddenly  called  on  to  solve  problems 
by  universal  suffrage  which  an  oligarchy  of  the 
most  select  kind  has  never  had  to  face.  Its 
failures,  therefore,  have  been  serious  and  nu- 
merous, and  there  does  not  seem  much  chance 
of  its  doing  better  without  experience;  expe- 
rience is  a  master  from  whose  chastening  rod 
none  can  escape.  To  suppose  it  will  not  learn 
through  mishaps  and  miscarriages  would  be  to 
despair  of  the  human  race,  for  it  is  from  suffer- 
ing or  failure  that  we  have  got  most  of  the  good 


INTRODUCTION  vii 

things  in  civilization.  The  great,  perhaps  the 
only,  mistake  optimists  appear  to  make  is,  as  I 
have  said,  the  mistake  of  thinking  there  are  short 
cuts  to  political  happiness. 

E.  L.  G. 


UNFORESEEN  TENDENCIES  OF 
DEMOCRACY 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

I  HAVE  thought  it  necessary,  at  the  risk  of 
being  tedious,  to  preface  what  I  am  about  to  say 
concerning  democracy  by  a  brief  account  of  the 
earlier  efforts  to  establish  it.  I  do  this  to  avoid 
the  notion,  which  is  only  too  prevalent,  that 
we  are  in  this  age  attempting  something  new 
in  the  art  of  government,  when  the  fact  is  that 
we  are  continuing  a  very  old  experiment  under 
widely  changed  conditions.  Human  nature  re- 
mains the  constant  element  in  our  problem,  but 
it  is  now  surrounded  with  a  great  variety  of  novel 
agencies,  to  which  we  are  slowly  and  painfully 
trying  to  adapt  ourselves. 

There  is  probably  no  political  question  which 
has  been  more  debated  than  the  origin  of  society, 
—  what  it  was  that  in  the  beginning  brought  large 
bodies  of  men  together  under  one  government. 
There  is  probably  no  subject  more  obscure. 


2  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

When  it  began  to  be  looked  into  after  the  Ee- 
naissance,  the  view  of  Aristotle,  that  society  had 
grown  naturally,  was  the  one  generally  adopted. 
Government  was  the  product  of  the  nature  of 
man  as  a  gregarious  or  political  animal,  as  he 
calls  him.  Men  loved  to  live  in  a  herd,  and  in 
order  to  live  comfortably  in  a  herd,  regulations 
were  necessary;  and  as  soon  as  speech  came, 
these  regulations  became  governments,  but  they 
were  not  at  the  outset  really  what  we  call  gov- 
ernment. They  were,  more  properly,  customs. 
There  is  nothing  more  wonderful  or  incredible 
in  these  than  in  the  customs  of  the  bees  or  of 
the  ants.  These  animals  have  certain  ways  of 
acting  under  certain  circumstances,  which  must 
be  considered,  as  long  as  we  deny  them  intel- 
lect, a  true  government.  That  is,  a  certain 
course  of  conduct  is  imposed  on  them  by  some 
power  or  influence  superior  to  the  individual 
will.  Whether  this  power  be  instinct  or  custom 
makes  little  difference.  It  constitutes  an  orderly 
way  of  living  in  society.  The  essential  thing  in 
any  government  is  that  it  should  make  living 
in  society  easy  and  secure,  while  living  alone  is 
insecure  and  disagreeable.  The  prevalence  of 
the  belief  among  individuals  that  things  must 
be  done  in  a  certain  way,  and  not  in  others,  and 
that  unless  things  are  done  in  a  certain  way,  and 
not  in  others,  unpleasant  results  will  follow, 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  3 

means  organized  society ;  and  it  makes  no  dif- 
ference from  what  source  the  unpleasantness  of 
these  results  may  emanate.  As  soon  as  this 
power  or  influence  takes  hold  of  men,  and  a 
number  of  them  agree  in  submitting  to  it,  gov- 
ernment of  some  kind  is  instituted. 

Of  the  origin  of  custom  we  know  little,  al- 
though there  has  been  a  great  deal  of  specula- 
tion about  it,  too.  But  it  is  almost  certain  that 
every  custom  originated  either  in  a  common 
sense  of  the  convenience  of  some  practice,  or  in 
a  gradually  formed  common  belief  in  its  efficacy 
as  a  protection  against  known  ills.  So  it  may 
be  alleged  with  tolerable  positiveness  that  the 
practice  of  being  bound  by  certain  customs  was 
in  the  beginning  a  natural  product  of  men's 
gregariousness. 

A  great  deal,  also,  has  been  written  about  the 
origin  of  law.  In  the  beginning  of  this  century 
Austin  made  some  impression  by  the  definition 
of  law  as  a  command  promulgated  by  an  official 
superior ;  that  is,  he  thought  that  there  must  be 
a  government,  in  our  sense  of  the  word,  before 
there  is  law,  and  that  even  custom  does  not  be- 
come law  until  it  has  received  the  sanction  or 
affirmation  of  this  political  superior,  or  of  its 
courts  or  judges.  But,  as  has  been  pointed  out 
by  Maine  and  HoUand  and  Pollock,  the  courts 
decide  what  customs  are  binding  and  what  are 


4  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

not,  showing  that  a  custom  may  be  a  law  before 
the  political  superior  takes  any  notice  of  it.  In 
fact,  it  is  now  generally  recognized,  as  Maine 
suggests,  that  law  begins  in  custom  or  religion ; 
that  law  is  the  product  either  of  custom  or  of 
belief.  As  far  as  we  can  go  back  into  the  mists 
of  time,  we  find  men  living  under  the  domain  of 
custom.  We  find  them  doing  some  things  and 
avoiding  others,  simply  because  their  fathers  be- 
fore them  have  done  them  or  have  avoided  them. 
We  find  this  long  before  we  can  catch  sight  of 
any  political  authority  whatever.  Even  to-day, 
according  to  Mr.  Lumholst,  there  are  Australian 
savages  who  have  no  political  or  social  superiors, 
and  whom  nobody  commands.  But  they  have 
rules  of  living.  Superiority  of  physical  strength 
seems  to  lead,  in  process  of  tune,  to  the  predomi- 
nance of  one  man,  which  predominance  finally 
brings  with  it  moral  influence.  But  political 
authority,  apparently,  does  not  come  for  a  good 
while.  Among  American  Indians,  the  chief  is 
not  always  a  political  superior.  He  leads  in  a 
war  party  those  who  choose  to  follow  him  from 
confidence  in  his  ability,  but  when  the  expedition 
is  over  he  becomes  simply  a  distinguished  man, 
whose  advice  is  valuable  and  whose  prowess  is 
great.  What  holds  the  tribe  together  is  a  collec- 
tion of  customs  which  fix  the  date  and  character 
of  its  doings,  and  which  none  dares  to  disobey. 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  5 

Not  unnaturally,  when  a  chief  of  more  than 
ordinary  force  and  character  is  able,  in  a  more 
advanced  state  of  society,  to  convert  this  influ- 
ence into  positive  rule,  —  that  is,  to  make  him- 
self a  Homeric  or  Roman  "  king,"  and  perhaps 
a  hereditary  king,  —  to  become  a  real  political 
chief,  and  to  give  his  family  a  semi-sacred  char- 
acter in  the  popular  eyes,  we  have  the  foundation 
of  a  state. 

But  we  meet  with  no  sign  in  antiquity  of  the 
conscious  foundation  of  a  state  by  agreement. 
In  all  that  we  see  or  know  of  the  foundations  of 
society,  we  find  no  trace  of  conscious  organiza- 
tion. Certain  arrangements  grow  out  of  exist- 
ing conditions.  They  are  not  made,  and  they 
differ  infinitely  as  the  previous  circumstances 
differ.  So  that  the  Aristotelian  view  appears  to 
have  been  founded  on  all  that  was  known  or 
could  be  learnt  of  the  early  history  of  mankind. 
The  contract  theory  represented  society  as  we 
see  it,  as  having  been  founded  by  discussion  be- 
tween rulers  and  people,  and  the  formation  by 
mutual  agreement  of  rules  by  which  the  govern- 
ment was  to  be  carried  on.  This  was,  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  the  chief  weapon  of  the 
friends  of  constitutional  liberty  against  the  abso- 
lutists. Sir  Robert  Filmer,  on  behalf  of  the 
absolutists,  founded  the  monarch's  claim  to  rule 
on  the  paternal  character  of  Adam.  As  Adam 


6  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

ruled  all  that  then  existed  of  the  human  race  in 
virtue  of  his  fathership,  so  the  kings  ruled  his 
descendants  as  his  successors,  in  virtue  of  their 
fathership.  Grotius  went  halfway  towards  this 
theory  by  founding  the  monarch's  title,  not  on  a 
contract  with  the  governed,  but  on  the  consent 
of  the  governed.  They  gave  themselves  to  the 
monarch  without  conditions.  Hobbes  held  that 
men  formed  society  through  fear  of  each  other : 
each,  being  afraid  the  others  would  kill  or  rob 
him,  thought  it  best  for  safety  to  enter  into 
an  alliance  with  somebody,  and  thus  tribes,  and 
finally  societies,  grew  up.  But  all  agreed  that 
in  the  original  state  of  nature  men  lived  as  indi- 
viduals, without  relations  with  other  men.  Gro- 
tius made  his  theory  support  the  existing  condi- 
tion of  things  on  the  continent  of  Europe.  Sir 
Robert  Filmer  used  his  to  defend  the  cause  of 
King  James,  and  Hobbes  his  to  exalt  the  power 
of  "  the  state,"  or  "  Leviathan,"  in  behalf  of 
King  Charles.  Hooker,  as  a  moralist,  used  his 
theory  to  inculcate  the  duty  and  advantages  of 
mutual  love  and  assistance,  whatever  the  form 
of  government  might  be.  Locke  held  to  the 
contract  theory  on  behalf  of  King  William ;  but 
the  only  government  he  could  have  known  to 
result,  as  Hooker  says,  from  "  the  deliberate 
advice,  consultation,  and  composition  between 
men,"  was  that  of  the  New  England  colonies, 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  7 

and  more  particularly  that  of  Plymouth.  What 
happened  in  "  the  state  of  nature,"  though  de- 
scribed by  nearly  all  these  writers  with  minute- 
ness, is  pure  guesswork. 

Although  Locke  and  Hooker  described  a 
free  commonwealth  or  a  "  perfect  democracy  " 
with  tolerable  accuracy  as  the  "  majority  making 
laws  for  the  community  from  time  to  time,  and 
executing  those  laws  by  officers  of  their  own 
appointment,"  we  really  get  no  glimpses  of  a 
"  people "  as  we  understand  the  word  in  the 
modern  world.  A  people,  in  the  political  sense, 
has  to  be  not  simply  a  collection  of  individuals 
or  families  living  in  a  certain  region  in  a  certain 
way,  and  making  common  cause  against  enemies, 
but  a  body  conscious  of  its  own  existence  as  a 
political  organism,  and  of  the  existence  of  cer- 
tain duties  of  individuals  to  one  another  with- 
out blood  relationship,  and  of  rights  of  its  own, 
and  of  control  over  its  own  affairs  as  a  whole, 
and  of  the  power  to  dispose  of  itself  as  a  whole. 
When  this  self-consciousness  first  arose  we  do 
not  know.  We  find  all  writers  on  government, 
down  to  the  French  Revolution,  treating  the 
states  of  antiquity,  and  especially  the  Hebrews, 
Greeks,  and  Romans,  as  illustrations  or  proofs 
of  their  theories.  What  was  right  politically 
was  generally  found  in  the  Bible ;  what  was 
wise  or  admirable  was  generally  found  in  Plu- 


8  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

tarch's  Lives  or  in  Livy.  Indeed,  it  may  be  said 
that  before  Montesquieu  there  was  no  political 
speculation  worth  serious  attention.  He  was  the 
first  since  Aristotle  to  base  his  theories  on  the 
nature  of  man,  and  to  some  extent  on  the  expe- 
rience of  existing  states.  As  he  says  in  his  pre- 
face, "  I  have  not  drawn  my  principles  from  my 
prejudices,  but  from  the  nature  of  things."  He 
was,  in  fact,  the  first  to  consider  the  effects  of 
character  on  government,  and  to  look  on  gov- 
ernment as  modifying  character.  But  he  con- 
tinued, like  his  predecessors,  to  find  most  of  his 
illustrations  in  antiquity.  This  gave  much  of 
the  writing  on  politics  of  the  pre-Revolutionary 
period  an  academic  air.  Even  Rousseau  and 
Voltaire  and  the  Encyclopaedists  seemed  to  be 
making  literature  rather  than  exerting  an  influ- 
ence on  government.  It  was  not  until  the  Rev- 
olution had  sought  to  embody  these  speculations 
in  practice  that  democracy,  or  the  rule  of  the 
people,  came  out  of  the  closets  of  the  philoso- 
phers, either  as  a  beneficent  force  or  as  a  new 
kind  of  danger,  and  that  discussions  about  gov- 
ernment took  on  an  air  of  real  business.  The 
Revolution  sought  to  embody  the  speculations  of 
the  philosophers  in  practice,  not  so  much  because 
it  fancied  their  theories  as  because  the  nation 
was  miserable.  Had  the  French  people  been 
happy  and  prosperous,  or  well  governed,  the 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  9 

probabilities  are  that  we  should  have  heard 
little  or  nothing  of  the  influence  of  the  writers. 

There  is  no  doubt  that  the  pre-Revolutionary 
writers  were  in  the  right  way  in  relying  on 
Greece  and  Rome  for  their  illustrations.  Up 
to  that  time  the  modern  world,  if  we  except 
England,  had  contributed  little  or  nothing  to 
the  science  of  government.  Certain  customary 
bodies  had  grown  up,  such  as  the  States-General 
in  France  and  the  House  of  Commons  in  Eng- 
land, which  kept  alive  the  theory  that  the  people 
had  something  to  do  with  the  management  of 
their  own  affairs.  But  as  a  rule  government  was 
in  all  countries  a  congeries  of  customs,  maxims, 
or  proverbs,  literally  without  form  and  inexpli- 
cable, for  which  little  could  be  said  except  that 
they  had  grown  up,  and  that  people  were  used 
to  them  and  liked  them.  Symmetry  was  the  last 
thing  they  sought.  The  ignorance  and  barbar- 
ism of  the  Middle  Ages  lingered  in  the  laws 
and  governmental  arrangements  of  every  Euro- 
pean country.  To  get  an  idea  of  the  orderly 
growth  of  states,  as  the  result  of  manners,  cir- 
cumstances, and  religion,  readers  have  to  go 
back  to  Greece  and  Rome. 

Greece  and  Rome  are,  in  truth,  our  politi- 
cal ancestors.  From  them  have  come  to  us, 
through  some  process  of  descent,  the  idea  of 
nearly  all  our  political  arrangements.  The  habit 


10  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

of  taking  counsel  together  is  a  natural  result  of 
man's  gregariousness.  But  the  practice  of  per- 
suasion by  discussion,  and  decision  by  a  major- 
ity after  a  hearing,  is  Greek.  The  use  of  checks 
in  the  exercise  of  authority  by  law,  and  indeed 
the  habit  of  trying  experiments  in  politics,  are 
Greek  and  Roman.  The  Greeks  and  Romans 
were  the  first  we  know  of  to  make  special  ma- 
chinery of  government,  to  see  how  it  would 
work,  and  to  change  it  deliberately  if  it  was 
unsuitable.  The  Greeks  may  be  said  to  have 
been  the  founders  of  what  is  called  "  diplo- 
macy ;  "  that  is,  of  the  art  of  conducting  nego- 
tiations and  transacting  business  through  argu- 
ment between  equal  states.  The  Romans  set  us 
the  example  of  basing  political  arrangements  on 
manners  and  religion.  They  took  the  family  as 
their  political  model,  and  created  the  political 
father  called  the  "  king,"  or  leader ;  but  they 
kept  in  mind  that  as  there  were  many  fathers, 
there  must  be  discussion  and  agreement.  They 
were  the  first,  too,  to  embody  in  their  polity  a 
full  recognition  of  the  value  of  experience  and 
deliberation  by  creating  a  body  of  seniors,  or 
older  men,  called  the  "  Senate."  The  early  Ro- 
man Senate  was  composed  simply  of  older  men. 
To  compose  it  mainly  of  distinguished  public 
servants  was  the  idea  of  a  much  later  period. 
In  fact,  what  strikes  one  most,  in  reading  the 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  11 

history  of  either  ancient  Greece  or  Rome,  is  its 
political  activity,  the  incessantness  with  which 
the  people  sought  after  better  ways  of  living  in 
society.  Greece  was,  for  this  purpose,  some- 
what in  our  position ;  that  is,  it  was  made  up 
of  a  number  of  small  states,  in  which  constant 
experimentation  in  politics  was  going  on,  within 
limits  set  by  a  certain  number  of  Hellenic  cus- 
toms which  roughly  corresponded  to  our  Fed- 
eral Constitution.  Every  one  of  the  small  states 
tried  something  new,  —  monarchy,  democracy, 
or  aristocracy,  military  or  peaceful  habits,  —  and 
accepted  or  rejected  it  after  trial.  What  is  in 
our  eyes  most  singular  in  these  trials  is  the  part 
distinguished  men  played  in  them.  In  nothing 
political  do  we  differ  more  from  the  ancient 
world  than  in  the  disappearance  from  among 
us  of  the  "lawgiver,"  Moses,  Solon,  Lycurgus, 
Minos,  —  the  single  statesman  to  whom  the 
people  commit  the  construction  of  a  social  and 
political  regime  by  which  they  agree  to  live,  or  at 
least  to  try  to  live.  We  can  hardly  conceive  of 
a  state  of  mind  in  which  we  should  be  willing  to 
leave  to  one  man,  however  revered,  the  construc- 
tion of  a  plan  of  lif  e  both  civil  and  political,  — 
sometimes,  as  in  the  case  of  Sparta,  of  great 
severity,  —  and  then  accept  it,  without  question, 
for  an  indefinite  period.  According  to  Plutarch, 
the  Spartans  lived  for  five  hundred  years  under 


12  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

laws  of  extraordinary  rigidity  contrived  by  Ly- 
curgus.  Solon  at  Athens,  too,  appears  to  have 
had  no  difficulty  in  enforcing  the  seisachtheia, 
or  general  release  of  debtors,  in  order  to  make 
way  for  his  code  of  laws,  and  Moses,  or  some 
one  of  somewhat  similar  authority,  supplied  the 
Hebrews  with  a  moral  code  of  the  most  endur- 
ing character.  It  is  to  be  observed,  however, 
that  the  lawgiver  always  acted  with  the  aid  of 
religion.  He  was  always  supposed  to  have  God 
or  his  oracles  behind  him;  that  is,  he  had  to  be 
in  some  sense  divinely  appointed.  There  is  more 
or  less  uncertainty  about  the  exact  nature  of  the 
kind  of  legislation  which  each  provided,  but 
no  matter  how  mythical  his  character  or  doings 
might  be,  the  mere  conception  of  the  lawgiver 
indicates  a  readiness  to  defer  to  individual  wis- 
dom, which  has  long  departed  from  the  world, 
—  the  most  remarkable  feature  of  ancient  poli- 
tics. 

But  what  was  really  almost  as  striking  was 
the  capacity  for  general  political  progress  of  the 
communities  which  sprang  up  in  the  numerous 
islands  and  valleys  of  Greece,  and  of  the  vari- 
ous villages  of  shepherds  and  husbandmen  who 
founded  Rome.  We  can  hardly  imagine  similar 
communities  in  our  day  doing  more  than  live  by 
a  small  set  of  customs,  tending  their  flocks,  cul- 
tivating their  small  farms,  and  only  too  happy 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  13 

to  walk  quietly  and  unostentatiously  in  their 
ancient  ways.  The  Greeks  and  Romans,  on  the 
contrary,  were  remarkable  for  continuous  search 
after  better  ways.  The  village  on  the  Palatine 
grew  into  an  empire  through  a  series  of  experi- 
ments in  war  and  peace.  There  were  constant 
changes  in  the  structure  of  the  government  from 
Romulus  down  to  Augustus,  to  meet  some  exist- 
ing ill.  In  like  manner,  every  little  community 
in  Greece  was  occupied  in  steady  pursuit  of  a 
better  regime  than  that  which  it  had.  As  a 
rule,  each  was  a  little  democracy,  engaged  more 
or  less  frequently  in  resisting  the  attempts  of 
rich  men  to  set  up  either  a  monarchy  or  an 
aristocracy.  These  attempts  were  often  success- 
ful for  a  time,  but  never  permanently  successful. 
Down  to  the  end,  in  spite  of  their  early  respect 
for  family,  the  Greeks  appear  to  have  remained 
thoroughly  democratic  in  their  ideas  and  man- 
ners. But  the  rich  class  were  rarely  content 
with  the  existing  state  of  things,  always  felt  they 
could  do  better  if  they  had  their  way,  and  were 
as  purely  selfish  as  aristocracies  are  apt  to  be. 
They  were  convinced  that  the  most  important 
interest  of  the  state  was  that  they,  not  the 
many,  should  be  happy  and  content.  Aristotle 
furnishes  several  illustrations  of  this,  the  most 
remarkable  being  the  oath  which  he  says  was 
taken  by  some  of  the  oligarchies:  "I  will  be 


14  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

evil-minded  towards  the  people,  and  bring  on 
them  by  my  counsel  whatever  mischief  I  can." 

In  Aristotle's  "  Politics,"  in  fact,  may  be  found 
the  best  thought  of  the  ancient  world  about 
politics,  and,  in  general,  about  life  in  an  organ- 
ized state.  It  is  somewhat  startling  to  see  how 
small  is  the  advance  we  have  made  on  his  ideas. 
That  the  great  end  of  men  in  society  should  be, 
not  simply  to  live,  but  to  live  well;  that  a  free 
state  should  be  composed  of  freemen;  that  a 
state  in  which  the  good  of  the  rulers  is  sought 
rather  than  that  of  the  many,  is  not  a  free  state; 
that  private  property  is  essential;  that  no  man 
is  a  citizen  who  does  not  share  in  the  govern- 
ment; that  a  good  citizen  and  a  good  man  are 
synonymous  terms ;  that  no  man  should  be  judge 
in  his  own  cause;  that  government  should  be 
adapted  to  the  mental  and  moral  condition  of 
the  governed;  that  every  class  in  a  state,  if  it 
gets  possession  of  the  government,  is  apt  to  seek 
its  own  advantage  exclusively,  —  these  are  prin- 
ciples which  have  not  been  improved  upon,  and 
lie  at  the  basis  of  all  modern  political  constitu- 
tions. 

The  only  matters  on  which  we  should  be  dis- 
posed, in  modern  life,  to  dissent  from  Aristotle 
are  the  judiciary  and  slavery.  Judges,  he  thinks, 
in  a  democracy,  should  be  numerous  and  elec- 
tive, and  he  recognizes  slavery  as  ordained  by 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  15 

nature.  But  his  description  of  the  internal  dan- 
gers of  a  state,  of  the  different  kinds  of  govern- 
ment which  have  been  tried,  of  the  objections  to 
each,  and  of  the  things  necessary  to  the  success- 
ful practice  of  either  monarchy,  oligarchy,  or 
democracy,  has  hardly  been  surpassed  in  our 
day,  even  with  our  vastly  longer  experience. 
From  him  we  get  the  Greek  idea  of  citizenship 
without  qualification;  that  is,  government  by 
universal  suffrage,  without  regard  to  rank  or 
property.  But  this  has  to  be  received  with  some 
allowance,  owing  to  the  existence  of  slavery. 
In  every  Greek  republic  the  laboring  class  were 
slaves  and  were  excluded  from  all  share  in  the 
government,  so  that  we  cannot  say  that  any  one 
state  made  the  experiment  of  democracy,  in  the 
sense  in  which  we  understand  it.  Even  in  the 
successful  democracies,  the  voters  or  citizens 
were,  in  a  certain  degree,  an  oligarchy,  were  pos- 
sessed of  property  and  independence,  and  had 
ample  time  to  occupy  themselves  with  politics 
and  to  go  to  the  assemblies,  or,  as  we  say,  "to 
attend  to  their  political  duties." 

This  points  to  other  important  differences  be- 
tween our  idea  of  democracy  and  that  of  the 
ancients.  With  Aristotle,  smallness  was  an  essen- 
tial condition  of  democracy.  It  was  considered 
desirable  that  no  democracy  should  be  so  large 
that  all  the  citizens  could  not  attend  the  general 


16  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

assembly  and  take  a  personal  part  in  legislating 
and  judging ;  also,  that  all  citizens  should  be  in 
some  measure  known  to  one  another  and  to  the 
magistrates.  As  the  representative  system  had 
not  been  invented,  our  plan  of  committing  the 
work  of  government  to  a  class,  while  the  rest  of 
the  population  give  the  bulk  of  their  time  to 
some  sort  of  bread-earning,  was  not  known  to 
the  ancients  as  democracy.  Such  a  state  of 
things  was  not  in  their  eyes  a  democracy,  but  an 
oligarchy  or  a  monarchy.  The  personal  parti- 
cipation of  the  citizen  in  all  deliberations  was 
essential.  To  secure  this,  as  democracies  grew 
larger,  and  the  poor  found  presence  at  the  meet- 
ings of  the  assembly  a  hardship,  they  were  paid 
a  small  sum  for  their  attendance,  like  our  jury- 
men. Moreover,  for  the  same  reasons,  every 
democracy  was  supposed  to  consist  of  a  city  sun- 
ply,  with  all  citizens  living  within  easy  reach  of 
the  agora  or  forum.  Strangers  and  sojourners 
and  slaves,  however  numerous,  were  excluded 
from  citizenship,  so  that  at  Athens  and  Rome, 
in  the  later  days,  the  real  citizens  were  in  a  small 
minority,  constituting  what  the  French  call  the 
pays  legal ;  that  is,  the  city  or  country  recog- 
nized by  or  known  to  the  law.  This  presence  of 
a  body  of  persons  sharing  the  life  and  interests 
of  the  place,  but  not  allowed  to  share  in  its  gov- 
ernment, was  transmitted  to  the  modern  world, 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  17 

and  became  a  feature  in  all  the  municipalities  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  and  even  of  the  democratic 
cantons  of  Switzerland.  The  citizens  or  bur- 
gesses owned  the  state  or  city  as  property,  and 
transmitted  it  to  their  children.  They  gave 
nothing  to  the  non-citizens  but  permission  to 
reside  and  protection.  The  idea  that  mere  birth 
and  residence  ought  to  give  citizenship  gained 
ground  only  after  the  French  Revolution,  and 
was  really  not  received  in  England  until  the 
reform  of  the  municipalities  in  1832.  The  old 
confinement  of  the  citizenship  to  a  small  body 
of  property-holders,  or  descendants  of  property- 
holders,  undoubtedly  gave  the  property  qualifi- 
cation to  such  of  the  modern  European  states  as 
set  up  an  elected  legislature  or  council.  Down 
to  the  passage  of  the  Reform  Bill  in  England, 
the  exclusion  of  all  but  freeholders  from  the 
franchise  seemed  a  perfectly  natural  arrange- 
ment. It  was  very  difficult  for  most  English- 
men, and  the  same  thing  is  true  of  the  earlier 
Americans,  to  suppose  that  any  one  could  take 
a  genuine  interest  in  the  welfare  of  the  country, 
or  be  willing  to  make  sacrifices  for  its  sake, 
who  did  not  own  land  in  it.  The  central  idea 
of  the  ancient  city  was  in  this  way  made  to  cover 
the  larger  area  of  a  modern  kingdom. 

This  idea  of  citizenship,  too,  accounts  in  some 
measure  for  the  important  place  assigned  in  the 


18  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

Greek  system  to  the  "  demagogue."  Not  only 
the  name,  but  the  picture  of  the  demagogue 
comes  to  us  from  antiquity.  He  is  literally  a 
man  who  exerts  great  influence  over  the  people, 
it  may  be  for  good  as  well  as  for  bad  purposes. 
We  use  the  word  in  a  bad  sense,  but  originally 
the  sense  was  not  always  bad.  The  demagogue 
was  distinctly  the  product  of  oratory.  It  was 
oratory  at  Athens,  for  instance,  which  is  said  to 
have  created  him  ;  and  of  course,  to  give  weight 
to  oratory,  the  body  to  be  influenced  must  be 
small.  To  employ  the  common  expression  of 
our  orators,  those  whom  he  addresses  must  be 
"within  the  sound  of  his  voice."  In  the  absence 
of  a  periodical  press  this  was  essential.  The 
people  must  have  been  a  body  which  a  man 
could  address  even  in  the  open  air.  His  distin- 
guishing trait,  however,  as  Aristotle  describes 
him,  was  his  correspondence  to  the  flatterer  or 
courtier  of  the  monarch  or  tyrant.  He  always 
extolled  the  wisdom  and  other  good  qualities 
of  the  people,  and  claimed  in  virtue  of  this 
wisdom  very  great  powers  for  it.  He  was  the 
great  enemy  of  checks  and  balances.  Aristotle 
describes  one  sort  of  democratic  government 
as  "allowing  the  people,  not  the  law,  to  be 
supreme."  "  And  this  takes  place,"  he  says, 
"when  everything  is  determined  by  a  majority 
of  voters,  and  not  by  a  law,  —  a  thing  which 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  19 

happens  by  reason  of  the  demagogues."  They 
might,  in  fact,  be  described  as  the  great  cham- 
pions, on  every  occasion,  of  government  by  sim- 
ple majority,  a  characteristic  which  they  possess 
in  our  day.  Most  demagogues  maintain  the 
wisdom  of  the  people,  not  generally,  but  with 
regard  to  the  particular  matter  under  considera- 
tion ;  this  wisdom  is  superior  to  all  experience, 
to  all  checks  imposed  by  antecedent  laws  or  con- 
stitutions, and  even  to  the  moral  ideas  of  any 
preceding  generation.  Their  audience  is  always 
treated  as  either  omnipotent  or  allwise  within 
the  sphere  of  legislation,  and  as  much  wronged 
by  the  restriction  of  its  powers  by  any  outward 
influence. 

It  is  the  remembrance  of  this  fact  which  has 
led,  in  modern  times,  to  the  adoption  of  consti- 
tutions changeable  only  at  fixed  times  or  in  a 
prescribed  way.  The  main  object  of  them  all  is 
to  put  restrictions  on  the  power  of  the  majority 
vote,  which  vote  is  an  object  of  great  dread  to 
nearly  all  political  philosophers  in  our  day.  On 
the  other  hand,  the  object  of  nearly  all  dema- 
gogues, as  they  are  called,  is  to  establish  this 
power.  This  has  perhaps  never  been  more  re- 
markably illustrated  than  by  the  recent  presiden- 
tial canvass  in  this  country.  All,  or  nearly  all, 
Mr.  Bryan's  adherents  wished,  with  regard  to 
the  currency  and  various  other  matters,  to  dis- 


20  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

regard  the  experience  of  the  race  and  of  the  rest 
of  the  world,  and  to  treat  the  wishes  of  the 
majority  as  sufficient  to  determine  finally  the 
action  which  the  nation  ought  to  take.  This 
caution  due  to  the  fear  of  external  resistance, 
which  in  previous  democracies  has  generally  been 
operative,  was  notably  absent,  owing  to  the  un- 
precedented size  of  the  democracy.  The  dema- 
gogues said  that  we  were  so  large  and  powerful 
that  we  could  do  what  we  pleased.  No  ancient 
democracy  was  able  to  say  this  or  think  it.  It 
always  had  neighbors  of  nearly  equal  strength, 
whose  enmity  was  to  be  feared  or  whose  good 
will  had  to  be  courted.  What  other  neighbor- 
ing states  thought,  or  would  be  likely  to  think, 
of  most  measures  under  discussion,  was  generally 
a  consideration  of  more  or  less  weight.  Then, 
the  possibility  of  emigration  on  the  part  of  any 
class  or  set  of  men  whom  legislation  might  op- 
press or  discriminate  against,  had  to  be  taken 
into  account.  The  ancient  world  along  the 
shores  of  the  Mediterranean  was  constantly  agi- 
tated by  movements  of  discontented  people  in 
search  of  new  homes.  Seneca's  explanation  of 
the  causes  of  the  foundation  of  colonies  would 
apply  almost  exactly  to  the  seventeenth  and 
eighteenth  centuries.  It  would  apply  even  to 
the  emigration  of  this  century,  —  with  this  dif- 
ference, however  :  that  the  ancient  colonists 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  21 

never  went  very  far  away,  but  settled  in  what 
might  be  called  Greek  or  Roman  regions,  while 
ours,  as  a  rule,  have  planted  themselves  in  the 
wilderness,  where  the  work  of  civilization  had 
to  be  begun  from  the  very  foundations.  The 
Swiss,  from  the  earliest  times,  enjoyed  this  ad- 
vantage of  having  powerful  neighbors,  whose 
presence  exerted  a  more  or  less  moderating  in- 
fluence on  all  democratic  schemes  or  enterprises. 
Even  their  extraordinary  military  success  in  the 
sixteenth  century  did  not  rid  them  of  the  fear 
of  foreign  critics. 

In  all  ancient  democracies,  including  early 
Rome  under  this  term,  the  internal  history  is 
generally  an  account  of  contests  between  the 
poor  and  the  rich  ;  meaning  by  "  poor  "  persons 
who  are  not  rich, — not  the  extremely  poor.  An 
oligarchy  always  consists  of  rich  men ;  a  demo- 
cracy, of  what  may  be  called  people  of  moderate 
means.  For  the  most  part,  the  rich  seem  never 
to  be  thoroughly  content  with  the  rule  of  the 
many,  and  long  to  rid  themselves  of  it.  Nor  do 
they  share  the  democratic  or  Aristotelian  idea 
of  the  state  as  a  community  of  freemen.  They 
think  themselves  entitled  to  rule,  and  think 
their  contentment  the  chief  object  of  the  state. 
There  consequently  prevailed  between  them  and 
the  masses  a  somewhat  fierce  animosity.  When 
a  revolution  took  place  in  a  Greek  state,  it  was 


22  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

generally  either  a  rising  against  an  oligarchy  of 
rich  men,  or  else  an  attempt  on  the  part  of  rich 
men  to  overthrow  democratic  government :  hence 
the  attempts  of  the  lawgiver  to  enforce  equality 
in  living,  so  as  to  prevent  the  rich  man  from 
making,  in  his  mode  of  life,  any  outward  display 
of  his  wealth.  In  Sparta  Lycurgus  went  so  far 
as  to  make  all  eat  at  the  same  tahle.  But  the 
idea  of  the  sacredness  of  property,  as  we  hold 
it,  can  hardly  be  said  to  have  existed  in  the 
ancient  communities.  Dispossessions,  confisca- 
tions, redistributions,  were  not  uncommon.  The 
power  of  the  lender  over  the  borrower's  person 
was  from  the  earliest  times,  both  in  Greece  and 
in  Borne,  very  great,  and  kept  alive  the  discon- 
tent of  the  poor,  making  it  extremely  important 
for  the  rich  man  everywhere  to  get  and  keep 
possession  of  the  government.  It  was  only  by 
getting  hold  of  the  administration  of  the  law 
that  he  could  feel  absolutely  secure. 

To  understand  this  more  completely,  we  have 
to  bear  in  mind  that  there  is  no  record  of  a  poor 
aristocracy  having  long  retained  possession  of 
any  state.  In  spite  of  the  definition  of  the 
word  which  makes  aristocrats  the  best  men  in 
the  community,  all  attempts  to  maintain  an  aris- 
tocracy very  long  in  power  without  wealth  have 
proved  failures.  A  poor  nobility,  even  when  it 
has  a  court  and  a  standing  army  to  support  it,  is 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  23 

never  well  able  to  justify  itself  in  the  popular 
eye.  The  people  expect  a  powerful  man  to  live 
with  a  certain  ostentation.  He  has  to  have  very 
commanding  talents  or  to  render  great  services, 
in  order  to  live  simply,  without  loss  of  political 
prestige.  Consequently,  notwithstanding  what  i 
long  and  illustrious  descent  might  do  for  a  man, 
the  Greek  definition  of  oligarchy  or  aristocracy 
as  rich  men  was  not  far  wrong.  There  is 
something  a  little  ridiculous  about  the  poor  no- 
bleman, and  he  has  been  in  all  ages  extensively 
caricatured,  and  his  pretensions  to  eminence  have 
been  mocked  at. 

When,  in  the  beginning  of  this  century,  the 
result  of  the  French  Revolution  had  discredited 
democracy  as  a  cure  for  modern  ills,  there  natu- 
rally and  speedily  arose  among  the  champions  of 
aristocracy  a  desire  to  discredit  ancient  demo- 
cracy also  as  an  example  for  the  modern  world, 
and  modern  writers  speedily  took  sides  between 
the  Greek  rich  and  the  Greek  poor.  More  par- 
ticularly, a  history  of  Greece  written  by  Mr. 
Mitford,  and  published  in  1810,  seemed  to  have 
for  its  special  object  to  show  the  failure  of  Athe- 
nian democracy,  and  to  warn  the  modern  advo- 
cates of  popular  government  of  the  danger  of 
their  theories.  He  was  apparently  producing 
a  good  deal  of  effect,  and  was  having  his  own 
way,  when  George  Grote,  then  a  young  man, 


24  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

appeared  on  the  scene  with  an  article  criticising 
him  (in  the  "  Westminster  Review  "  of  April, 
1826)  that  excited  a  sensation  which  we  in  later 
days  find  it  difficult  to  understand.  He  over- 
whelmed the  historian  with  Greek  learning, — 
with  his  minute  knowledge  of  all  that  could  be 
known  concerning  Greek  manners,  ideas,  history, 
geography,  and  literature.  The  article  was  not 
very  long,  but  it  was  conclusive,  and  after  its 
appearance  Mitford  ceased  to  have  authority. 
But  in  spite  of  Thirlwall's  more  impartial  view 
and  of  Grote's  own  vindication  of  Greek  popular 
government  in  his  history,  Athens  continued  to 
be,  in  the  eyes  of  many  conservatives,  an  ex- 
ample of  the  dangers  of  a  government  of  the 
majority,  until  a  comparatively  recent  period. 
Democracy  had  certainly  to  contend  with  power- 
ful illustrations  of  the  superiority  of  the  govern- 
ment of  the  few  in  the  matter  of  continuity  of 
policy,  to  be  found  in  the  history  of  states  like 
Venice,  Berne,  and  Geneva,  where  public  affairs 
were  administered  with  apparent  success  for  cen- 
turies, by  a  minority  of  patricians.  All  these 
fell,  not  directly  through  their  own  weakness  so 
much  as  through  the  French  Revolution,  which 
may  be  said  to  have  swept  them  away  by  force. 
But  in  any  case  they  could  not  have  survived 
the  gradual  growth  of  cheap  literature.  The 
success  of  aristocratic  policy  everywhere  is  due, 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  25 

in  large  part,  to  the  possibility  of  secrecy,  and 
to  the  possibility  of  administering  through  few 
counselors  and  without  much  discussion.  The 
existence  and  expression  of  such  a  thing  as 
"  public  opinion  "  —  that  is,  the  opinion  of  a 
great  number  of  people,  most  of  them  ill  in- 
formed as  to  the  matter  in  hand,  —  are  fatal  to 
it.  The  boldness  which  has  always  been  one  of 
the  marks  of  aristocratic  government  is,  in  fact, 
due  largely  to  the  belief  that  it  knows  exactly 
how  the  few  feel,  whose  feeling  about  any  mat- 
ter is  of  importance.  If  the  multitude  had  to 
be  consulted,  this  boldness  would  be  impossible, 
owing  to  uncertainty  as  to  what  the  final  tribu- 
nal would  think.  Consequently,  the  rise  of  the 
newspaper  press  —  furnishing  to  every  man  the 
materials  for  an  opinion  of  some  sort  about  pub- 
lic affairs,  and  the  opportunity  to  say  something 
about  them,  whether  well  or  ill  judged  —  had 
naturally  a  paralyzing  effect  on  aristocratic  pol- 
icy, and  would  have  led  to  the  downfall  of  aris- 
tocratic states  even  if  the  French  Revolution  had 
never  occurred.  The  contentment  with  material 
conditions,  such  as  the  careful  administration 
of  the  finances  and  of  justice,  and  the  general 
security  that  were  characteristics  of  a  govern- 
ment like  that  of  Berne,  would  have  disappeared 
rapidly  before  the  popular  desire  to  share  in  the 
government.  This  would  have  been  the  inevita- 


26  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

ble  result  of  popular  knowledge  of  what  author- 
ity was  doing  which  the  cheap  press  brought 
with  it.  When  every  man  in  the  state  knew,  or 
thought  he  knew,  what  ought  to  be  done,  the 
period  of  government  by  small  trained  minori- 
ties had  passed  away. 

But  as  I  have  said,  independently  of  this 
influence  of  the  printing-press,  the  eighteenth 
century  closed  with  the  revelation  of  great  aris- 
tocratic failures  ah1  over  Europe.  The  states 
which  Napoleon  overthrew  were  all  adminis- 
tered by  a  few  men  of  aristocratic  birth  with  but 
indifferent  success.  The  break-down  of  their 
regime  in  France  was  made  notorious  by  the 
terrible  way  in  which  popular  discontent  found 
expression.  But  in  nearly  every  country  on  the 
Continent,  outside  Switzerland,  privilege  reigned 
supreme,  with  harsh,  even  contemptuous  treat- 
ment of  the  poor,  and  with  little  or  no  economy 
in  the  administration  of  the  finances,  except  for 
military  purposes.  Indeed,  in  every  state  on 
the  Continent  the  government  may  be  said  to 
have  failed,  even  as  an  instrument  for  carrying 
on  war  with  its  neighbors.  All  its  political 
arrangements  seem  to  have  been  made  simply 
for  the  purpose  of  enabling  a  small  class  to  en- 
joy themselves,  and  to  indulge  in  their  favorite 
amusement  of  commanding  armies. 

In  the  discussion  which  arose  out  of  the  great 


FORMER  DEMOCRACIES  27 

uprising  at  the  end  of  the  century,  therefore, 
there  was  little  or  nothing  to  be  said  for  the  old 
regime.  The  most  was  made  of  the  excesses  of 
the  Revolution,  but  no  defense  was  possible  of 
what  the  Revolution  overturned.  It  was  not 
surprising,  then,  that  the  supporters  of  the  old 
regime  should  turn  to  Athens  for  examples  of 
what  the  popular  movement  was  likely  to  lead  to 
if  the  world  chose  to  abandon  its  ancient  ways. 
What  this  abandonment  would  mean  it  is  diffi- 
cult for  us  to  conceive  now,  in  an  age  when 
birth  has  lost  its  prestige,  and  the  distinction 
between  the  manant  and  the  nobleman  has 
become  almost  diverting.  The  only  places  in 
which  it  survives  with  any  power  are  Austria 
and  Germany,  particularly  Austria,  in  which  the 
noble  class,  or  class  with  a  "  sixteen  quarterings," 
still  lives  apart,  and  monopolizes  many  of  the 
offices  of  state  and  much  of  the  command  of 
the  army,  as  it  did  in  France  before  the  Revolu- 
tion. 

Nearly  everywhere,  however,  even  in  as  demo- 
cratic states  as  ours,  aristocracy  leaves  traditions 
which  are  strong  enough  to  make  the  rich  desire 
to  inherit  them.  All  over  the  modern  world  the 
desire  to  belong  to  a  class  apart,  with  other 
needs  than  those  of  the  masses,  and  with  claims 
to  consideration  not  possessed  by  the  not-rich, 
the  tendency  to  consider  themselves  in  some  way 


28  FORMER  DEMOCRACIES 

superior  to  the  rest  of  the  community,  is  one  of 
the  marks  of  the  wealthy.  And  this  claim  on 
the  part  of  the  rich  to  be  the  heirs  of  the  old 
aristocracy,  and  to  possess  the  same  social  though 
perhaps  not  the  same  political  value,  constitutes 
one  of  the  dangers  of  the  time.  Everywhere 
the  rich  man  seeks  in  some  way,  generally  by 
marriage,  to  ally  himself  with  the  old  aristocracy 
and  be  absorbed  into  it,  and  he  demands  what- 
ever social  deference  used  to  be  accorded  to 
birth.  Tocqueville  makes  some  gentle  fun  of 
the  American's  disposition  to  trace  his  descent 
from  a  noble  family  of  the  same  name  in  Eng- 
land ;  and  the  tendency  of  well-to-do  Americans 
to  ally  themselves,  immediately  on  landing  in 
Europe,  with  the  old  order  of  nobility  is  de- 
scribed by  Laboulaye  in  the  pleasantry,  "  Un 
Yankee  a  Paris  se  croit  ne  gentilhomme." 


EQUALITY 

THE  event  which  first  gave  the  idea  of  demo- 
cracy a  recognized  place  in  the  modern  world  was 
the  embodiment  of  the  American  Declaration  of 
Independence  in  political  revolution.  There 
has  been  a  great  deal  of  discussion  as  to  the 
origin  of  the  doctrine  of  the  equality  of  men 
which  it  proclaims,  and  it  is  a  point  of  some  in- 
terest for  the  political  philosopher,  as  Sir  Henry 
Maine  has  shown.  But  its  history  as  a  political 
dogma  is  not  really  important,  because  it  must 
have  been  in  the  air  all  over  modern  Europe 
after  the  spread  of  Christianity.  It  was  impos- 
sible to  teach  Christianity  to  any  man  without 
leading  him  to  think  himself  as  good  as  any- 
body. The  great  importance  which  the  Chris- 
tian religion  attaches  to  the  future  of  the  soul, 
and  its  bold  affirmation  of  the  equality  of  souls 
after  death,  must  have  led  even  slaves,  in  the 
earlier  ages,  to  put  themselves  secretly  on  the 
same  plane,  before  the  Creator,  with  kings  and 
senators  and  noblemen.  Macaulay's  florid  de- 
scription of  the  Puritan's  attitude  towards  "  kings 
and  priests "  fairly  represented,  doubtless,  the 
state  of  mind  of  thousands,  if  not  of  millions, 


30  EQUALITY 

for  centuries.  What  was  wanting  was  the  phy- 
sical power  to  procure  recognition  of  the  doctrine 
from  the  state,  so  dominating  was  the  influence 
of  prescription,  tradition,  and  custom.  So  that 
there  is  every  likelihood  that  its  production  by  a 
community  in  arms,  no  matter  for  what  reason, 
was  simply  the  expression  of  a  thought  which 
was  already  popular  in  the  sense  of  being  widely 
held. 

That  it  had  at  that  time  the  signification 
which  we  are  now  so  apt  to  attach  to  it  —  not 
only  that  all  men  are  born  equal,  but  that  for 
public  purposes  one  man's  opinion  is  as  good  as 
that  of  any  other  man,  and  that  there  is  as  much 
reason  for  consulting  him  regarding  common 
affairs  as  any  other  man  —  is  not  probable.  The 
state  of  the  world  in  the  eighteenth  century  war- 
rants the  belief  that  what  men  meant  by  equality 
at  that  time  was  equality  of  burdens,  the  aboli- 
tion of  all  exemptions  from  the  common  liabili- 
ties and  of  all  privileges  in  running  the  race  of 
life.  This  was  really  the  kind  of  equality  of 
which  both  the  American  and  the  French  Revo- 
lution were  the  expression  in  the  beginning.  I 
conclude  this  from  the  readiness  in  both,  at  the 
outset,  to  follow  and  obey  the  lead  of  men  of 
mark;  the  recognition  of  the  wider  range  of 
experience  which  education  and  property  give  a 
man,  or  may  give  him,  and  his  generally  greater 


EQUALITY  31 

fitness  to  lead  in  politics,  which  prevailed  at  that 
time.  This  was  a  characteristic,  in  particular, 
of  the  American  Revolution.  It  was  conducted 
largely  with  loyal  support  from  the  masses,  un- 
der the  direction  of  men  of  some  social  distinc- 
tion. The  class  of  "  notables "  seems  to  have 
held  its  place  in  the  community,  undisturbed  by 
political  events.  The  English  tradition  that  a 
prominent  social  station  entitles  a  man  to  some 
sort  of  political  leadership,  or  at  ah1  events  to 
high  office,  does  not  seem  to  have  been  really 
broken  down,  or  even  to  have  been  strongly 
assailed,  until  Andrew  Jackson's  time,  when  the 
doctrine  of  equality  took  on  a  new  form,  and 
found  for  the  first  time  full  expression  in  our 
politics. 

Equality,  as  every  one  acknowledges,  is  the 
foundation  of  democracy.  It  means  democracy 
when  it  gets  itself  embodied  in  law.  When  all 
are  equal,  there  is  no  reason  why  all  should  not 
rule.  But  the  equality  of  the  French  in  1792, 
when  the  revolutionary  government  was  estab- 
lished, was  something  different  from  the  equality 
of  1789.  In  1789  the  equality  which  was  asked 
for  was,  in  the  main,  simply  an  equality  of  rights 
and  burdens  between  the  nobility  and  the  tiers 
etat.  Equality,  as  Montesquieu  uses  the  term, 
means  simply  love,  not  of  one's  order,  but  of 
one's  country,  and  as  such  he  made  it  the  equiva- 


32  EQUALITY 

lent  of  democracy.  Democracy,  he  says,  is 
equality.  But  the  word  "equality"  for  him 
evidently  had  no  social  signification.  It  meant 
rather  equality  of  service  to  the  country :  that 
every  one  was  held  to  the  same  amount  of  pub- 
lic duty,  according  to  his  means,  and  that  every 
one  was  entitled  to  the  same  opportunities  of 
taking  part  in  the  government.  That  heing  born 
of  particular  parents  made  any  one  essentially  of 
better  quality  than  anybody  else;  that  if  one 
hundred  babies  of  different  conditions  were 
brought  up  in  the  same  manner,  the  sons  of 
noblemen  or  gentlemen  among  them  would  show 
their  superiority  to  the  others  in  their  character, 
was  a  doctrine  which,  after  the  Middle  Ages, 
was  probably  never  fully  accepted  even  by  the 
most  ardent  believers  in  heredity.  Every  gen- 
eration was  witness  of  the  break-down,  if  I  may 
use  the  expression,  of  the  principle  of  heredity. 
That  is  to  say,  a  large  number  of  noble  or  gentle 
families  in  every  generation  lost  their  position  or 
property,  because  the  founder  did  not  transmit 
his  qualities  of  mind  or  character  to  his  descend- 
ants. The  folly  or  extravagance  or  imprudence 
which  led  to  this  social  decheance  was  generally 
due  to  marked  departures  in  intellect  or  morals 
from  the  original  type.  The  believers  in  heredity 
were  misled  by  the  analogy  of  the  breeding  of 
animals.  Horses  transmitted  speed  and  bottom, 


EQUALITY  33 

birds  peculiar  appearance,  with  extraordinary 
certainty.  Therefore,  it  was  concluded,  a  man 
was  likely  to  have  his  father's  wisdom,  or  fore- 
sight, or  mental  strength.  But  his  descendants 
rarely  inherit  from  a  father  more  than  one  or 
two  mental  peculiarities,  valuable  when  united 
with  other  things,  but,  standing  alone,  of  little 
use  in  the  battle  of  life,  —  a  fact  which  may  be 
verified  anywhere  by  observing  the  families  of 
distinguished  men.  A  man  eminent  in  politics, 
or  law,  or  medicine,  or  commerce,  or  finance,  or 
war,  is  seldom  succeeded  by  a  son  who  recalls  the 
ensemble  of  qualities  which  have  secured  the 
father's  success,  although  he  may  have  one  or 
two  of  his  characteristics.  Heredity  obtained 
its  stronghold  in  the  popular  imagination  in  the 
Middle  Ages,  owing  to  the  fact  that  the  son  was 
in  possession  of  the  father's  power  when  he  died, 
and  that  in  a  rude  age,  when  things  were  mainly 
decided  by  fighting,  it  offered  the  readiest  means 
of  settling  peaceably  questions  of  succession. 
But  as  soon  as  the  question  of  the  right  of  a 
class  to  rule  in  virtue  of  heredity  became  a  sub- 
ject of  discussion,  heredity  broke  down.  It  was 
a  custom  which  was  valuable  in  the  time  of  its 
origin,  but,  like  most  customs,  found  it  impos- 
sible to  justify  itself  by  any  better  argument  than 
that,  under  some  circumstances,  it  had  produced 
good  results. 


34  EQUALITY 

But  in  America,  from  the  settlement  of  the 
colonies,  the  English  doctrine  that  distinction 
should  serve  in  place  of  heredity  seems  to  have 
held  its  place  in  the  popular  imagination.  The 
founding  of  colonies,  the  making  of  conquests, 
the  growth  of  trade  and  commerce,  and  the  early 
practice  of  admitting  able  lawyers  to  the  House 
of  Lords  had  familiarized  Englishmen  with  the 
idea  of  a  man's  making  his  fortune  by  some  sort 
of  adventure,  no  matter  what  his  origin.  The 
peers,  too,  sapped  their  own  power  unconsciously 
by  making  legislators  of  young  men  of  promise, 
no  matter  of  what  extraction,  and  giving  them 
seats  in  the  House  of  Commons.  The  result  was 
that  the  association,  in  the  English  mind,  of  men 
of  mark  of  some  kind  with  office-holding  and 
the  work  of  government  took  deep  root  after  the 
revolution  of  1640,  and  was  transferred  to  Amer- 
ica. It  was  generally  leading  men  of  promi- 
nence and  character  who  were  made  governors 
and  judges,  and  were  sent  to  the  legislature  and 
to  Washington.  The  Revolution  was  carried 
through,  and  the  Constitution  formed  and  its 
adoption  brought  about,  by  men  of  this  kind. 
The  idea  of  an  obscure  man,  of  a  man  who  was 
not  lifted  above  the  crowd  in  some  way,  being 
fit  for  the  transaction  of  public  affairs  was  still 
unfamiliar.  All  the  members  of  the  Constitu- 
tional Convention  were  men  of  some  local  note, 


EQUALITY  35 

and  so  were  the   earlier   administrators  of  the 
new  government. 

This,  too,  down  to  that  period,  had  been  the 
strongest  tradition  of  all  previous  democracies. 
All  democracies,  both  ancient  and  modern,  had 
made  a  practice  of  electing  to  office,  not  always 
their  best  men,  but  their  most  prominent  men. 
In  none  of  them  had  a  man  who  was  not  in 
some  way  raised  above  the  mass  of  his  fellow 
citizens  —  who  had  not  succeeded  in  life,  in 
short  —  much  chance  of  filling  a  high  or  an 
important  place.  This  was  eminently  true  of 
Greece  and  Rome  and  Switzerland.  In  a  small 
state,  where  everybody  knows  everybody  well, 
and  where  elections  and  other  public  affairs  are 
transacted  in  the  market-place,  within  sound  of 
an  orator's  voice,  this  is  not  difficult.  Office- 
seekers  are,  in  a  measure,  compelled  to  be  elo- 
quent, or  distinguished  for  something.  An  ob- 
scure man,  or  a  man  whose  character  bears 
serious  blemishes  of  some  kind,  will  hardly  dare 
to  ask  the  confidence  of  the  citizens  in  his  fitness 
for  great  duties.  The  composition  of  the  Ro- 
man Senate,  which  from  the  beginning  consisted 
of  notables  who  had  in  some  manner  rendered 
the  state  marked  service,  and  the  selection  for 
which  the  people  for  centuries  committed  to  a 
magistrate,  showed  better  than  almost  anything 
else  the  desire  of  the  ancient  democracies  to 


36  EQUALITY 

avail  themselves  of  their  best  talent.  What 
they  seem  to  have  insisted  on  above  all  things, 
in  the  management  of  the  state,  was  not  the 
right  of  filling  offices  with  anybody  they  pleased, 
but  the  right  of  filling  them  with  their  most 
competent  men.  It  may  be  said  that  this  was 
not  so  great  a  mark  of  wisdom  as  appears,  be- 
cause every  ancient  democracy  was  in  a  position 
of  some  danger.  It  was  continually  exposed  to 
war  and  subjugation  by  some  stronger  neighbor, 
and  the  penalty  of  defeat  in  those  days  was  tre- 
mendous. The  vanquished  were  killed  or  sold 
into  slavery,  and  their  women  were  appropriated 
by  the  conquerors.  So  that  the  cultivation  and 
recognition  of  ability  were  conditions  of  exist- 
ence. In  the  case  of  Rome  this  necessity  was 
even  stronger  than  elsewhere,  for  she  entered  on 
a  career  of  conquest  from  the  very  beginning, 
and  this  called  for  the  filling  of  the  Senate, 
which  decided  what  was  to  be  conquered  and 
selected  generals  for  the  work,  with  the  ablest 
men  in  the  state. 

In  nothing  does  modern  democracy  differ  so 
much  from  the  ancient  democracy  as  in  this  in- 
difference to  distinction,  owing  in  a  large  degree 
to  the  size  of  the  two  communities  which  fully 
practice  it,  and  to  the  great  preponderance  of 
the  less  instructed  class  in  the  elections.  The 
Greek  democracy,  and  in  a  less  degree  that  of 


EQUALITY  37 

Rome,  were  composed  of  a  selected  body  the 
principal  occupation  of  which  was  politics,  and 
they  were  brought  in  almost  daily  contact  with 
the  leading  men  of  the  community,  and  were 
consulted  by  them  in  the  forum  concerning  both 
war  and  peace.  We  can  hardly  imagine  a  better 
education  than  this,  touching  the  management 
of  affairs  and  the  qualities  which  it  requires. 
The  consequence  was  that  the  people  were  daily 
engaged  in  forming  judgments  as  to  the  capacity 
of  men  with  whom  they  were  familiar,  and  the 
men  were  daily  engaged  in  giving  viva  voce 
reasons  for  their  advice,  or  explaining  and  de- 
fending their  conduct,  or  setting  forth  their  own 
claims  to  an  office.  Our  democracies,  on  the 
other  hand,  are  composed  of  vast  bodies  of  men 
who  have  but  small  acquaintance  with  the  ma- 
chinery of  public  affairs,  or  with  the  capacity  of 
individuals  for  managing  it. 

This  brings  me  to  what  is  probably  the  great- 
est danger  of  modern  democracy,  if,  like  all 
previous  regimes,  it  should  lose  its  hold  on  popu- 
lar affections  and  fall  into  decay.  The  spread 
of  democracy  —  that  is,  the  participation  of  the 
whole  community  in  the  work  of  government  — 
has  been  accompanied  by  a  great  increase  in  the 
complexity  of  human  affairs.  The  interdepen- 
dence of  nations  through  the  growth  of  trade, 
the  increase  of  literature,  the  incessant  conversa- 


38  EQUALITY 

tion  with  one  another  kept  up  by  the  press,  the 
greatly  improved  facilities  of  travel,  has  grown 
to  a  degree  undreamt  of  even  a  century  ago. 
A  debate  in  a  legislative  body,  the  careless  speech 
of  a  chief  magistrate,  a  slight  change  in  the 
system  of  taxation  of  even  one  nation,  a  small 
discovery  by  a  man  of  science  in  any  country,  in 
our  time  produce  an  almost  instantaneous  effect 
over  the  whole  civilized  world ;  and  one  might 
say,  the  whole  world,  whether  civilized  or  not, 
for  civilization  now  asserts  the  dominion  of  its 
ideas  everywhere.  In  truth,  the  extent  to  which 
all  news,  no  matter  whence  it  comes,  affects  or 
may  affect  the  lives  of  most  of  us  is  present  to 
every  man  when  he  opens  his  newspaper  in  the 
morning.  And  all  private  business  partakes  of 
this  public  complexity.  The  size  of  all  under- 
takings, either  of  production  or  exchange  or 
transportation,  is  tasking  the  human  faculty  of 
administration  to  the  uttermost,  and  leads  a 
great  many  people  to  suppose  that  individuals 
are  no  longer  equal  to  the  task,  and  that  it  must 
be  hereafter  assumed  by  the  state.  For  success 
in  any  business  now,  an  amount  of  knowledge  is 
necessary  which  in  the  last  century  hardly  one 
man  in  a  million  possessed ;  decisions  must  now 
be  made  on  the  moment,  for  which,  a  hundred 
years  ago,  a  merchant  might  take  half  a  year. 
The  result  is  that  the  government  of  such  a 


EQUALITY  39 

world  need  an  increase  in  intellectual  equip- 
ment corresponding  to  the  increase  in  business. 
The  amount  of  property,  too,  which  is  placed  at 
the  disposal  of  the  modern  legislator  is  some- 
thing beyond  calculation.  Since  the  exclusion 
of  the  old  landed  class  from  the  work  of  govern- 
ment, a  process  which  began  soon  after  the 
French  Revolution,  the  growth  of  personal  pro- 
perty, which  to  be  enjoyed  or  increased  has  in 
some  way  to  be  displayed,  and  thus  comes  within 
the  reach  of  the  government,  is  one  of  the  most 
remarkable  phenomena  of  the  modern  world. 
When  the  old  ruler  had  taxed  land,  his  resources 
were  well-nigh  exhausted.  To-day  the  number 
of  movables  out  of  each  of  which  the  public 
treasury  can  extract  tens  of  millions,  in  every 
civilized  country,  has  made  taxation  one  of  the 
nicest  of  arts.  In  fact,  one  has  but  to  read 
such  a  book  as  Mr.  Wells's  "Recent  Economic 
Changes  "  to  see  that  within  a  century  we  have 
entered  a  new  material  world,  a  description  of 
which  would  have  been  deemed  fantastic  even 
in  1800.  In  every  field  of  human  activity  we 
have  drawn  heavily  on  the  supply  of  adminis- 
trative talent.  Whether  it  wishes  to  command 
a  great  army  or  a  great  fleet,  or  to  conduct  a 
great  business,  every  state  has  to  search  its  entire 
population  to  get  a  man  fit  for  the  work.  In 
some  things  in  which  capacity  is  not  easy  to 


40  EQUALITY 

test,  such  as  war,  most  countries  remain,  pend- 
ing the  outbreak  of  hostilities,  in  anxious  uncer- 
tainty as  to  the  capacity  of  their  military  men, 
by  sea  or  by  land. 

We  must  remember,  too,  that  this  great  in- 
crease of  affairs,  this  vast  growth  of  trade  and 
commerce,  is  made  possible  by  the  creation  of 
what  is  called  "  credit."  Without  credit,  in 
spite  of  the  improvements  in  transportation  and 
in  the  transmission  of  intelligence,  we  could  not 
have  had  this  expansion  of  business.  All  the 
gold  and  silver  in  the  world  would  not  have  been 
sufficient.  We  have  had  to  call  into  use  men's 
faith  in  the  fulfillment  of  one  another's  pledges, 
so  that  modern  prosperity  has  come  to  rest,  in 
the  main,  on  written  promises  or  letters  of  pri- 
vate individuals,  saying  they  will  pay  a  certain 
amount  of  money,  or  deliver  a  certain  quantity 
of  goods,  on  a  day  named.  The  result  is  a 
great  structure  of  what  may  be  called  mutual 
faith,  of  extraordinary  delicacy,  which  the 
slightest  suspicion  that  the  world  will  not  con- 
tinue to  go  on  in  the  way  in  which  it  is  going 
on,  that  there  will  be  a  war  or  an  earthquake  or 
a  startling  piece  of  legislation,  may  overthrow 
at  any  moment.  In  fact,  it  would  perhaps  be 
more  accurate  to  compare  it  to  a  network  cover- 
ing the  whole  earth,  than  to  a  building.  The 
slightest  derangement  or  break  in  it  anywhere  is 


EQUALITY  41 

felt  everywhere  else,  and  may  involve  great  de- 
preciation of  property,  and  the  postponement  or 
abandonment  of  enterprises  of  great  importance. 
The  care  of  it,  the  avoidance  of  all  measures  or 
movements  likely  to  disturb  it,  has,  therefore, 
in  our  day,  to  be  one  of  the  first  cares  of  a 
statesman.  To  be  fully  aware,  however,  of  the 
importance  of  credit,  either  actual  experience  of 
the  work  of  exchange  or  theoretical  knowledge 
of  it  from  study  is  necessary.  An  ignorant  man 
or  a  small  farmer,  who  knows  nothing  of  any 
dealings  but  cash  dealings,  finds  it  difficult  to 
understand  its  importance,  and  may  be  fre- 
quently tempted  to  take  steps  in  administration 
and  legislation  seriously  detrimental  to  it,  with- 
out meaning  or  foreseeing  any  harm. 

As  I  have  already  said,  the  really  alarming 
feature  connected  with  the  growth  of  democracy 
is,  that  it  does  not  seem  to  make  adequate  pro- 
vision for  the  government  of  this  new  world. 
Its  chief  function,  like  the  chief  function  of  the 
monarch  whom  it  has  succeeded,  is  to  fill  offices. 
This  is  the  chief  function  of  the  sovereign 
power  everywhere,  no  matter  by  what  name  it  is 
called.  To  find  the  right  men  for  the  public 
places  is  almost  the  only  work  which  falls,  or  has 
ever  fallen,  to  the  ruler.  It  is  by  the  manner  in 
which  this  is  done,  more  than  by  the  laws  which 
are  passed,  that  the  goodness  or  badness  of  a 


42  EQUALITY 

government  is  tested.  If  the  functionaries  are 
honest  and  faithful,  almost  any  kind  of  political 
constitution  is  endurable.  If  they  are  ignorant 
or  tyrannical  or  corrupt,  the  best  constitution  is 
worthless.  If  we  listen  to  the  conversation  of 
any  group  of  men  who  are  condemning  a  politi- 
cal system,  we  shall  find  that  their  talk  consists 
mainly  of  reports  of  malfeasance  in  office,  of 
officials  having  done  things  which  they  ought 
not  to  have  done,  and  of  their  having  failed  to 
do  things  which  they  ought  to  have  done.  Gov- 
ernment is  an  impalpable  abstraction  except  as 
it  makes  itself  felt  through  functionaries,  which 
is  about  the  same  thing  as  saying  that  adminis- 
tration is  even  more  important  than  legislation, 
that  even  bad  laws  well  executed  hardly  work  as 
much  unhappiness  as  good  laws  badly  executed. 
The  first  effect  of  this  great  change  on  de- 
mocracy was  delight  at  finding  that  government 
places  and  commissions  in  the  army  were  no 
longer  the  monopoly  of  the  aristocracy,  that 
family  or  wealth  was  no  longer  a  necessary  qual- 
ification for  them,  and  that  the  influences 
through  which  they  might  be  procured  were 
within  the  reach  of  the  poor  or  lowly  born.  The 
tide  of  democratic  opinion  has  ever  since  been 
in  favor  of  the  increase  of  offices.  In  France, 
in  Italy,  and  in  the  United  States,  every  govern- 
ment has  found  that  this  increase  was  a  popular 


EQUALITY  43 

measure,  and  has  given  way  to  the  temptation 
of  strengthening  itself  by  the  bestowal  of  them. 
The  passion  for  them,  even  where  the  tenure  is 
brief  or  insecure,  has  apparently  grown  with 
their  number.  The  tradition  of  the  old  regime, 
that  a  man  who  represented  the  government  was 
in  some  way  superior  to  the  people  with  whom 
he  came  in  contact,  has  apparently,  in  the  popu- 
lar eye,  clung  to  the  places.  Then,  the  cer- 
tainty of  the  salary  to  the  great  multitude  who 
in  every  country  either  fail  in  life,  or  shrink 
from  the  conflicts  which  the  competitive  system 
makes  necessary,  is  very  attractive ;  it  soon  con- 
verted the  civil  service  into  what  has  been  called 
"  spoils  ; "  that  is,  booty  won  by  victories  at  the 
polls. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  the  only  way  to  meet  this 
necessary  growth  of  demand  for  offices  was  to 
adhere  to  the  old  system  of  applying  to  the  man- 
agement of  state  affairs  the  principle  which 
reigns  in  business,  that  of  securing  the  best  tal- 
ent available ;  and  of  giving  the  chief  places, 
at  least,  to  men  who  had  already  made  a  mark  in 
the  world  by  success  in  some  field  of  activity. 
This,  as  I  have  said,  was  the  rule  of  the  de- 
mocracies of  the  ancient  world.  To  preserve  for 
the  democratic  government  the  old  respect  and 
authority  which  used  to  surround  the  monarchi- 
cal government,  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to 


44  EQUALITY 

compete  vigorously,  through  both  money  and 
honors,  in  the  labor  market,  with  private  busi- 
ness, the  demands  of  which  on  the  community's 
store  of  talent  became  very  great  as  soon  as 
steam  and  electricity  were  brought  into  the  ser- 
vice of  commerce  and  manufactures.  But  the 
tendency  has  not  run  in  this  direction.  As  re- 
gards the  lower  offices,  the  duties  of  which  are 
easily  comprehensible  by  everybody,  and  are 
merely  matters  of  routine,  in  which  discretion 
or  judgment  plays  little  part,  there  has  been  in 
this  country  a  decided  return  to  the  tests  of 
ordinary  business,  such  as  character  and  com- 
petency, and  a  decided  revival  of  confidence  in 
such  motives  as  security  of  tenure  and  the  pro- 
spect of  promotion.  But  as  regards  the  higher 
or  elective  offices,  such  as  those  of  legislators 
and  governors,  the  tendency  to  discredit  such 
qualifications  as  education  and  special  experience 
has  been  marked.  In  the  popular  mind  there  is 
what  may  be  called  a  disposition  to  believe  not 
only  that  one  man  is  as  good  as  another,  but 
that  he  knows  as  much  on  any  matter  of  general 
interest.  In  any  particular  business  the  superi- 
ority of  the  man  who  has  long  followed  it  is 
freely  acknowledged,  but  in  public  affairs  this 
is  not  perhaps  so  much  denied  as  disregarded. 
One  of  the  oddest  characteristics  of  the  silver 
movement  was  the  general  refusal  to  accept  the 


EQUALITY  45 

experience  of  any  country  or  age  as  instructive, 
and  this  in  a  matter  in  which  all  light  comes 
from  experience.  Bryan's  proclamation  that  the 
opinion  of  all  the  professors  in  the  United  States 
would  not  affect  his  opinions  in  the  least  was 
an  illustration  of  this  great  self-confidence  of 
a  large  democracy.  In  a  small  democracy  this 
could  hardly  have  occurred. 

All  the  great  modern  democracies  have  to 
contend  almost  for  existence  against  the  popular 
disposition  to  treat  elective  offices  as  representa- 
tive, and  to  consider  it  of  more  importance  that 
they  should  be  filled  by  persons  holding  certain 
opinions  or  shades  of  opinion  than  by  persons 
most  competent  to  perform  their  duties.  The 
distinction  between  representing  and  administer- 
ing seems  plain  enough;  and  yet,  since  the 
French  Revolution,  the  democratic  tendency  has 
been  everywhere  to  obscure  it.  This  has  not 
unnaturally  led  to  the  idea  that  the  offices  are 
rewards  for  the  persons  who  have  done  most  to 
propagate  or  defend  certain  views,  and  ought  to 
be  given  to  them  independently  of  their  fitness. 
To  this  confusion  of  two  different  functions  I 
must  ascribe  the  deterioration  which  has  been 
remarked  so  frequently  in  the  legislatures  of  all 
democratic  countries  in  modern  times.  The 
number  of  men  of  experience  or  special  know- 
ledge, as  well  as  of  conspicuous  men,  which  they 


46  EQUALITY 

contain,  seems  to  decline  steadily,  and  the  num- 
ber of  interests  committed  to  their  charge  as 
steadily  to  increase. 

The  disregard  of  special  fitness,  combined 
with  unwillingness  to  acknowledge  that  there 
can  be  anything  special  about  any  man,  which 
is  born  of  equality,  constitutes  the  great  defect 
of  modern  democracy.  That  large  communities 
can  be  successfully  administered  by  inferior  men 
is  a  doctrine  which  runs  directly  counter  not  only 
to  the  experience  of  the  race,  but  to  the  order 
appointed  for  the  advance  of  civilization,  which 
has  been  carried  forward  almost  exclusively  by 
the  labor  of  the  fittest,  despite  the  resistance 
or  reluctance  of  the  unfit.  This  order  of  na- 
ture, too,  has  been  recognized  fully  in  private 
affairs  of  every  description.  In  all  of  them 
competency  on  the  part  of  administrators  is  the 
first  thing  sought  for,  and  the  only  thing 
trusted.  But  in  private  affairs  the  penalty  of 
any  disregard  of  this  rule  comes  quickly ;  in 
public  affairs  the  operation  of  all  causes  is  much 
slower,  and  their  action  is  obscure.  Nations 
take  centuries  to  fall,  and  the  catastrophe  is  pre- 
ceded by  a  long  period  of  the  process  called 
"  bad  government,"  in  which  there  is  much  suf- 
fering and  alarm,  but  not  enough  to  make  the 
remedy  plain.  France  furnishes  the  best  mod- 
ern illustration  of  this  rule.  The  causes  of  the 


EQUALITY  47 

Revolution  undoubtedly  began  to  operate  at  the 
majority  of  Louis  XIV.,  but  for  over  one  hun- 
dred years  their  nature  and  certain  results  were 
not  perceived,  in  spite  of  the  great  popular  suf- 
fering which  prevailed  during  the  whole  period. 
The  worst  of  the  slowness  of  this  decadence 
is  that  it  affects  national  character  to  a  degree 
which  makes  recovery  more  difficult,  even  after 
the  origin  and  nature  of  the  disease  have  be- 
come plain.  Men  soon  get  accustomed  to  the 
evils  of  their  condition,  particularly  if  there  is 
nobody  in  particular  to  blame.  The  inaction  or 
negligence  or  shortcomings  of  great  numbers 
assume  the  appearance  of  a  law  of  nature,  or  of 
repeated  failures  or  attempts  at  the  impossible. 
The  apparent  difficulty  of  reform,  except  by 
catastrophe  or  revolution,  begets  either  despond- 
ency or  over-cheerf ulness. 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

IT  would  hardly  be  possible  to  write  a  better 
description  of  the  actual  machinery  of  our  nomi- 
nating system  than  Mr.  James  Bryce's  in  his 
"American  Commonwealth."  In  what  I  am 
about  to  say  of  it,  therefore,  I  shall  take  for 
granted  that  the  reader  is  familiar  with  it,  or  has 
abundant  means  of  making  himself  acquainted 
with  its  working.  Every  American  has  either 
practical  or  theoretical  knowledge  of  the  process 
by  which  we  select  men  for  office.  There  are 
probably  few  Americans  who  have  not  either 
participated  in  it,  or  been  exhorted  to  do  so  by 
writers  on  political  morality.  In  fact,  presence 
at  the  primary  meetings,  under  the  general  name 
of  "  attending  to  his  political  duties,"  has  been 
much  preached  as  the  chief  political  duty  of  the 
busy  man  who  does  not  otherwise  take  an  active 
part  in  politics.  It  used  to  be  held  more  strongly 
than  it  is  now  that  if  a  man  had  taken  part  in 
a  primary,  he  might  always,  with  a  good  con- 
science, vote  for  the  candidate  whom  the  primary 
and  its  resulting  conventions  presented  to  him. 
The  primary  has  gradually  assumed  in  our  sys- 
tem the  air  of  a  scheme  or  device  on  which  the 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  49 

republic  rests.  Of  course  it  has  differed  in  its 
character  and  composition  in  different  parts  of 
the  country ;  but  under  whatever  name,  for  at 
least  half  a  century,  it  has  been  treated  by  most 
political  philosophers,  as  well  as  by  practical  poli- 
ticians, as  the  fundamental  fact  of  our  politics, 
indifference  to  which  on  the  part  of  the  intel- 
ligent is  the  cause  of  nearly  all  our  woes.  For 
some  years,  in  many  of  the  discussions  which 
abuses  have  excited,  writers  have  been  apt  to 
ascribe,  especially  in  the  cities,  the  particular 
trouble  under  consideration  to  the  refusal  of 
respectable  citizens  to  take  part  in  the  primaries. 
This  refusal  has  even  been  more  dwelt  on  than 
the  abstention  at  elections,  which  this  class  have 
practiced  on  a  large  scale.  Yet  the  primary 
meeting,  as  the  source  of  the  nominating  con- 
vention, is  a  novelty  in  democracy.  It  is,  strictly 
speaking,  simply  part  of  a  new  system  of  select- 
ing candidates  for  office,  as  such  is  evidently  an 
experiment,  and  is  not  necessarily  a  part  of  the 
democratic  scheme  of  government.  It  is  of  the 
essence  of  the  democratic  system  that  the  major- 
ity shall  decide  who  shall  hold  and  administer 
the  various  administrative  and  legislative  offices, 
but  the  mode  of  choosing  candidates  for  these 
offices  is  a  matter  which  democracy  leaves  com- 
pletely open.  Nomination  is  the  offer  to  the 
people  of  the  services  of  certain  persons.  But 


50  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

the  democratic  principle  does  not  define  the 
manner  in  which  these  persons  shall  be  picked 
out. 

Accordingly,  almost  every  kind  of  nomination 
for  office  has  prevailed  in  democratic  countries. 
The  earliest  and  most  natural  is  the  one  which 
has  for  the  most  part  been  in  use  in  small  de- 
mocracies, —  the  selection  for  places  of  dignity 
or  responsibility  of  persons  eminent  in  the  eyes 
of  their  fellow-citizens  for  what  is  called  "  social 
station ; "  that  is,  generally  acknowledged  supe- 
riority of  some  kind,  in  private  life.  This  is  the 
plan  to  which  nearly  all  communities  resort  in 
their  more  primitive  and  simpler  stage.  They 
single  out  men  who  have  in  some  satisfactory 
manner  raised  themselves  above  their  fellows, 
and  have  become  what  is  called  "  distinguished." 
These  are  supposed  to  have  a  kind  of  moral 
right  to  offices  which  impose  responsibility.  In 
this  stage,  and  in  this  stage  only,  is  it  true  that 
the  office,  as  the  saying  is,  seeks  the  man,  not  the 
man  the  office.  The  agreement  of  his  fellow-citi- 
zens that  he  is  the  person  whom  the  place  or  the 
work  demands  is  a  kind  of  recognition  which  the 
great  man  waits  for,  as  most  agreeable  to  him. 
This  system  prevailed  in  the  beginning  in  all  the 
small  democracies  of  Greece  and  of  Switzerland. 
And  we  have  a  suggestion  as  to  the  manner  of 
nominations  in  New  England  in  the  early  days, 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  51 

in  the  account  by  Gordon,  the  historian,  of  the 
life  of  Samuel  Adams,  the  New  England  agi- 
tator, where  he  says  that  in  1724  Adams's  father 
"  and  about  twenty  others,  one  or  two  from  the 
north  end  of  the  town,  where  all  ship  business 
was  carried  on,  used  to  meet,  make  a  caucus, 
and  lay  their  plans  for  introducing  certain  per- 
sons to  places  of  trust  and  power." 

In  the  next  stage  the  candidate  does  not  wait 
for  this  recognition;  he  offers  himself  for  the 
place  or  honor.  Both  recognition  and  honor  are 
desired,  and  he  therefore  nominates  himself; 
that  is,  he  calls  public  attention  to  his  own  fit- 
ness, and  sets  forth  with  what  fidelity  and  effi- 
ciency he  would  perform  the  duties  which  the 
office  might  devolve  on  him.  In  a  small  demo- 
cracy, this,  as  a  rule,  is  all  that  is  necessary. 
Having  heard  what  the  rival  candidates,  if  there 
are  rivals,  have  to  say  for  themselves,  the  voters 
make  their  choice.  The  election  comes  quickly, 
if  not  immediately,  after  the  nomination.  Peo- 
ple are  supposed  to  be  able  to  form  a  prompt 
judgment  on  the  matter  in  hand.  There  may 
be  intrigues  in  the  candidate's  behalf,  but  what 
we  call  the  "  canvass,"  or  long  process  of  per- 
suasion, is  not  necessary  and  does  not  exist. 

As  the  number  of  voters  grows  larger,  the 
candidate  is  not  left  wholly  to  his  own  merits,  or 
exertions,  or  reputation.  A  committee  is  ap- 


52  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

pointed  to  look  after  his  interests,  and  a  canvass 
begins,  for  which  the  committee  make  arrange- 
ments. The  members  go  themselves  among  the 
electors,  or  employ  others  to  do  so,  to  make  sure, 
first,  that  the  electors  will  vote  for  somebody, 
and  then  that  this  somebody  shall  be  their  own 
man.  The  nature  of  the  arguments  employed 
in  his  favor  has  probably  never  varied  since  the 
practice  of  electing  candidates  began.  They  are 
the  arguments  by  which  the  voter  is  most  likely 
to  be  influenced,  no  matter  of  what  kind.  It 
was  through  the  canvass  that  the  great  and 
powerful  first  learned  to  conciliate  the  poor  and 
lowly,  and  from  the  earliest  times  the  various 
modes  employed  to  cajole  them  have  been  a 
favorite  subject  of  satirists.  The  first  large  de- 
mocracy with  which  we  have  any  acquaintance 
was  that  of  England  in  the  eighteenth  century. 
Elections  had  been  held  before  that  time,  and 
the  democratic  spirit  had  prevailed  in  them,  but 
it  was  only  in  the  eighteenth  century  that  they 
became  really  an  important  instrument  of  gov- 
ernment, and  the  wealthy  began  to  think  it 
worth  their  while  to  use  their  money  to  influence 
the  result.  The  contests  were  generally  between 
landed  proprietors  and  their  connections,  and 
the  intrusion  of  a  man  like  Burke  into  politics, 
on  the  ground  of  mere  eloquence  or  ability,  was 
a  rare  incident.  Very  soon  elections  began  to 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  53 

determine  the  fate  of  ministries  and  influence 
the  complexion  of  the  House  of  Commons.  Per- 
suasion by  argument  was  largely  abandoned  for 
bribery,  and  the  use  of  the  mob  of  non-electors 
for  purposes  of  violence  and  intimidation  became 
common.  It  was  only  in  great  cities,  like  Lon- 
don and  Bristol,  that  men  like  Burke  and  Wilkes 
were  able  to  displace  the  men  of  property  or 
high  connections,  and  we  have  in  Burke's  ad- 
dress to  the  electors  of  Bristol  probably  the  first 
specimen  of  a  real  argumentation  from  a  candi- 
date to  the  voters  of  a  large  constituency,  with- 
out appeals  to  some  sort  of  prejudice. 

In  America,  the  old  method  of  the  candidacy 
of  local  magnates,  selected  for  the  purpose  by 
other  men  like  themselves,  their  neighbors  and 
friends,  seems  to  have  prevailed  long  after  the 
settlement  of  the  country.  The  practice  of  the 
English  counties  was  preserved;  that  is,  the 
selection  by  some  people  of  influence  —  some- 
times, in  New  England,  the  clergy  —  of  a  good 
person  to  send  to  the  legislature  or  to  fill  any 
other  elective  office.  In  all  the  colonies,  and 
for  some  years  in  all  the  states,  offices  were 
reserved  naturally  for  men  of  local  mark,  gener- 
ally created  by  property  and  social  position.  In 
all  small  communities,  it  is  property  which  gives 
most  distinction.  In  fact,  from  the  fall  of  the 
Roman  Empire  almost  to  our  time,  the  world  was 


54  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

governed  by  property,  and  property  was  mainly 
land,  and  was  associated  in  the  popular  mind,  to 
a  degree  which  we  now  find  it  difficult  to  under- 
stand, with  political  power  and  prominence.  A 
landless  man  was  held  to  have  no  "  stake  in  the 
country,"  and  therefore  to  have  no  right  to  man- 
age public  affairs.  "Broad  acres"  became  a 
synonym  for  wealth,  and  a  natural  title  to  politi- 
cal authority  and  confidence.  This  idea  pre- 
vailed in  the  settlement  of  America,  and  found 
expression  in  large  grants  of  land  in  several  of 
the  colonies.  Probably  nothing  did  as  much  to 
democratize  America  as  the  abundance  of  land 
and  the  ease  of  its  acquisition.  People  began 
to  perceive  that  a  large  landowner  was  not  neces- 
sarily a  great  man,  and  the  idea  of  government 
by  landholders,  which  had  held  possession  of  the 
world  for  a  thousand  years,  was  killed  by  the 
perception.  Of  course  this  dispossession  of  the 
landholder  was  aided  by  the  growth  of  personal 
property,  through  the  progress  of  trade,  com- 
merce, and  invention.  The  freeholder  has  never 
stood  as  high  in  politics  as  he  did  during  the 
seventeenth  and  eighteenth  centuries.  There- 
after, realty  had  to  contend  with  personalty  for 
influence  in  government. 

America  thus  came  out  of  the  Revolution 
with  the  old  and,  one  may  say,  human  plan  of 
treating  some  kind  of  previous  social  distinction, 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  55 

already  known  to  the  voters,  as  giving  a  title  to 
nomination  for  office.  The  neighbors  met  and 
talked  over  the  proper  persons  to  fill  certain 
places,  and  the  ministers  and  persons  in  office 
gave  advice.  This  is,  as  I  have  said,  the  human 
plan,  which  has  always  had  recognition  in  busi- 
ness. Commercial  agents  and  persons  charged 
with  trusts  were  always  chosen  in  this  way. 
Personal  knowledge  of  the  man  by  those  hold- 
ing the  power  of  appointment  was  considered 
necessary.  It  seemed  difficult,  in  small  commu- 
nities, to  think  of  any  other  way.  That  a  man 
was  fit  for  office  who  was  not  already  raised 
above  his  fellows,  either  by  character  or  by  the 
possession  of  property,  was  an  unfamiliar  idea. 
Nearly  all  the  Revolutionary  leaders  were  men 
of  this  kind.  The  signers  of  the  Declaration  of 
Independence  and  the  drafters  of  the  Constitu- 
tion were  all  local  notables.  They  were  marked 
out  for  their  work  by  some  sort  of  prominence 
in  their  own  homes.  For  nearly  fifty  years  after 
the  new  government  had  been  set  up,  nominees 
were  known  to  everybody.  Even  nominees  for 
the  presidency  were  suggested  by  Congress,  as 
state  officers  were  in  like  manner  suggested  by 
the  legislatures,  the  members  of  which  were  gen- 
erally the  men  most  prominent  in  their  own 
localities.  Why  legislators  had  this  weight  and 
were  allowed  to  assume  this  function  may  be 


56  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

conjectured  from  the  size  of  the  vote.  In  1792 
the  vote  for  the  governor  of  New  York  was 
only  about  16,000,  but  by  1824  it  had  risen  to 
83,000.  The  growth  of  population  diminished 
the  number  of  well-known  men,  and  the  congres- 
sional caucus,  which  was  simply  a  private  meet- 
ing for  the  purpose  of  talking  over  common 
affairs,  took  on  itself,  not  unnaturally,  the  duty 
of  suggesting  to  the  constituencies  the  names 
of  candidates  for  the  presidency.  This  practice 
appears  to  have  begun  as  early  as  1796,  and  by 
1800  it  had  become  so  overbearing  that  the 
presidential  electors  provided  for  by  the  Consti- 
tution, virtually  ceased  to  have  power  or  author- 

ity. 

But  the  constituencies  rapidly  grew  restless 
under  congressional  dictation.  In  1808,  a  sum- 
mons issued  by  Senator  Bradley,  of  Vermont, 
"in  pursuance  of  the  power  vested  in  him  as 
president  of  the  late  convention  of  the  Republi- 
can members  of  both  Houses  of  Congress,"  was 
violently  resented  by  Mr.  Gray,  a  Virginia  mem- 
ber, who  "took  the  earliest  opportunity  to  de- 
clare his  abhorrence  of  the  usurpation  of  power 
declared  to  be  vested  in  him  (Bradley),  of  his 
mandatory  style  and  the  object  contemplated," 
and  claimed  for  "  the  people "  the  right  of 
"  selecting  persons  to  fill  the  important  offices." 
In  1800,  when  a  few  members  met  and  pledged 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  67 

themselves  to  use  their  influence  in  support 
of  Jefferson,  they  were  denounced  as  a  "  Jaco- 
binical conclave," 1  an  expression  for  which  the 
publisher  was  brought  to  the  bar  of  the  Senate. 
The  congressional  caucus,  however,  continued 
for  twenty  years  to  do  the  work  of  nomination, 
though  with  increasing  hesitation  and  timidity, 
and  amidst  growing  discontent  with  its  action. 
The  Clintonian  platform  in  New  York  in  1812 
declared  "  its  opposition  to  nomination  of  chief 
magistrates  by  congressional  caucus,  as  well 
because  such  practices  are  the  exercise  of  un- 
delegated  authority,  as  of  their  repugnance  to 
the  freedom  of  elections."  The  caucus  tried  to 
defend  itself  by  proclaiming  that  its  members 
met  only  in  their  individual  capacity,  and  that 
its  nominations  were  simply  suggestions.  The 
attendance  on  it,  also,  by  individual  members 
of  the  party,  was  fitful.  Meetings  seldom  con- 
tained more  than  two  thirds  of  those  who  might 
have  been  present. 

The  first  suggestion  of  a  nominating  conven- 
tion seems  to  have  come  from  the  "  New  York 
American,"  which  in  1822  proposed  a  general 
convention  of  Republican  delegates  to  assemble 
in  Washington  a  few  months  before  election  day, 
and  nominate  a  candidate  for  the  presidency. 
"  Coming  immediately  from  their  constituents," 

1  Niles's  Register,  December,  1823. 


68  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

it  said,  "  they  would  bring  with  them  the  sense 
of  the  people,  and  they  would  express  that  sense 
without  being  influenced  by  motives  that  might 
sway  the  representatives  in  Congress,  who  dur- 
ing the  sessions  at  the  seat  of  government  may 
be  supposed,  without  derogation  to  their  purity, 
to  have  formed  personal  attachments  and  party 
combinations  which  would  render  them  less  fit 
for  the  important  duty."  It  will  thus  be  seen 
that  the  convention  was  expected  to  be  a  body 
which,  like  the  constitutional  conventions  and 
the  Hartford  convention,  would  meet  to  discuss, 
without  foregone  conclusions  or  pledges.  After 
this,  nomination  by  the  congressional  caucuses 
passed  out  of  use.  As  late  as  1823-24  the 
friends  of  Mr.  Crawford,  of  Georgia,  tried  to 
call  a  congressional  caucus  for  his  nomination  ; 
but  very  few  members  attended,  and  the  project 
failed.  Nomination  by  the  state  legislatures 
then  began,  as  a  recommendation  or  mark  of 
local  commendation,  in  cases  where  there  was 
not  a  general  agreement  on  a  particular  man, 
owing  to  his  eminence  in  the  party.  The  use 
of  the  nominating  convention  is  ascribed  by 
Alexander  Johnston  to  the  fact  that  "  the  new 
politicians,  whom  the  rising  democratic  spirit 
and  the  extension  of  the  suffrage  were  together 
bringing  to  the  front,  were  determined  to  try 
the  issue  with  the  old  party  leaders  in  a  new 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  59 

form."  *  In  short,  the  voters  wished  to  have  a 
share  in  the  work  of  choosing  the  candidates 
whom  they  were  to  elect.  Social  knowledge  of 
these  had  ceased.  It  was  no  longer  possible  to 
presume  on  it.  The  United  States  had  entered 
on  a  new  era  in  its  politics. 

The  establishment  and  growth  of  the  nomi- 
nating convention,  in  truth,  constitute  the  capi- 
tal fact  of  modern  democracy  in  America.  Of 
no  other  political  phenomenon  has  the  influence 
on  the  government  and  on  the  character  of  pub- 
lic men  been  so  powerful.  It  is  effecting  a 
change  in  our  political  manners  of  which  there 
is  no  parallel.  But  there  is  nothing  in  Ameri- 
can history,  of  the  progress  and  consequences  of 
which  there  appears  to  have  been  so  little  pre- 
science. There  is  no  mention  or  allusion,  either 
in  Tocqueville  or  in  any  of  our  early  writers,  to 
its  probable  or  possible  effect.  One  finds  no 
allusion  to  it  in  any  of  the  commentators  on  the 
Constitution,  early  or  late.  The  fact  seems  to 
be  that  its  tendencies  were  hidden  from  the 
country  during  the  reign  of  men  of  influence  in 
our  politics,  such  as  Clay  and  Webster  and  Cal- 
houn,  by  their  own  overwhelming  importance, 
and  subsequently  by  the  absorbing  political  in- 
terest developed  among  all  classes  by  the  anti- 

1  Cyclopaedia  of  Political  Science :  article,  "  Nominating  Con- 
ventions." 


60  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

slavery  contest.  This  interest,  it  may  be  said, 
forced  foregone  conclusions  on  the  conventions. 
Their  work  was  done  before  they  met,  by  pub- 
lic sentiment.  They  simply  registered  decrees 
already  issued.  It  is  since  the  war  that  the  real 
working  of  the  convention  has  been  made  mani- 
fest, and  the  vastness  and  complication  of  the 
machinery  necessary  for  its  production  have  be- 
come fully  understood. 

It  was  made  necessary  in  the  beginning,  as  I 
have  said,  by  the  size  of  the  population.  We 
were  making  the  first  attempt  in  the  history  of 
the  world  to  govern  a  very  large  population  by 
universal  suffrage,  and  the  previous  modes  of 
nominating  candidates  for  office  either  by  per- 
sonal knowledge  or  by  the  recommendation  of 
notables,  had  broken  down.  The  people  had 
grown  too  numerous  to  have  personal  knowledge 
of  candidates,  and  they  were  too  democratic  to 
accept  the  recommendation  of  any  one  claiming 
superior  powers  of  discrimination.  A  system  of 
nomination  in  which  every  one  could  take  some 
part  seemed  to  have  been  made  necessary  by  the 
circumstances  of  the  country,  and  the  elected 
convention  seemed  the  fairest  and  easiest.  In- 
deed, it  was  hard  then,  as  it  is  now,  to  conceive 
of  any  other. 

Another  fact  speedily  appeared,  and  that  was 
that  universal  suffrage  was  made  more  difficult, 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  61 

as  a  political  agency,  through  the  mere  growth 
of  society.  When  it  was  first  established,  the 
electors  were  a  small  body  who  were  animated 
by  great  eagerness  to  vote.  In  nearly  all  discus- 
sions about  the  suffrage,  in  the  early  part  of  the 
century,  it  was  taken  for  granted  that  a  great 
number  of  electors  would  feel  the  same  eager- 
ness to  exercise  it,  as  a  few.  The  strong  desire 
of  the  excluded  masses  to  make  their  will  known 
in  this  way  was  the  fundamental  assumption  of 
what  was  called  radical  politics.  It  does  not 
appear  to  have  entered  any  one's  head  that  there 
would  ever  be  difficulty  in  getting  the  bulk  of 
the  electors  to  come  to  the  polls.  There  were 
many  fears  about  the  bad  influence  of  their  vote 
on  the  government,  but  there  were  no  fears  that 
they  would  not  immediately  and  fully  exercise 
the  privilege  conferred  on  them.  In  like  man- 
ner, the  canvass,  as  we  call  it,  or  the  work  of 
persuading  them  to  vote  in  a  particular  way,  did 
not  seem  likely  to  be  arduous.  Their  number 
not  being  great,  it  was  supposed  they  could  be 
easily  reached  by  influential  speakers  whose 
opinions  had  weight.  There  was  no  trouble,  for 
instance,  in  getting  at  the  16,000  of  the  State 
of  New  York  in  1792,  except  the  trouble  of 
traveling,  which  really  gave  electioneering  a 
gravity  in  those  days  of  which  we  now  know 
nothing.  A  man  who  comes  by  an  express  train 


62  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

to  talk  to  us  cannot  seem  as  serious  an  apostle 
as  the  man  who  comes  by  stage,  or  on  horse- 
back. His  place,  in  our  day,  is  only  inadequately 
filled  by  the  swarm  of  young  orators  whom  each 
party  lets  loose  at  the  opening  of  a  political 
campaign,  who  are  rarely  known  to  the  body  of 
the  electors,  and  are  listened  to  with  the  luke- 
warm attention  which  is  all  that  a  man  who  has 
not  already  made  his  mark  can  claim. 

As  the  number  of  electors  increased,  too,  the 
mere  machinery  of  elections  became  more  com- 
plicated. The  early  practice  of  viva  voce  voting, 
which  was  simple  and  natural  in  the  days  when 
each  man  either  was  entitled  to  vote  as  he 
pleased,  or  owed  his  vote  to  somebody  else, 
threw  a  large  part  of  the  trouble  on  the  voter. 
But  the  ballot,  which  was  well  known  in  the 
ancient  world,  and  was  adopted  by  most  of  the 
American  colonies,  as  numbers  grew,  threw 
greatly  enlarged  responsibility  on  governments. 
The  provision  of  ballots  and  their  distribution, 
and  the  enactment  of  precautions  against  fraud, 
which  is  much  easier  with  ballots  than  in  viva 
voce  voting,  made  elections  more  complicated 
than  they  were  in  earlier  days. 

All  this  helped  to  increase  the  importance  of 
the  nominating  convention.  The  work  of  find- 
ing candidates  to  please  this  growing  multitude, 
and  of  making  it  seem  worth  their  while  to  par- 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  63 

ticipate  in  the  contest,  became  more  and  more 
heavy.  One  result  of  this  work  was  to  raise  the 
value  of  party  in  the  popular  estimation.  It 
was  soon  discovered  that  party  spirit  was  a  great 
assistance  in  managing  large  bodies  of  voters. 
For  one  thing,  it  greatly  diminished  the  active 
work  of  canvassing.  It  was  found,  as  voters 
increased  in  number,  that  the  work  of  persuad- 
ing or  influencing  was  much  lightened  by  party 
fidelity.  To  have  a  party,  and  be  accustomed 
to  act  with  it,  helps  the  great  body  of  voters  in 
modern  times  in  making  up  their  minds  what  to 
do  at  elections,  and  in  fact  what  to  do  in  any 
matter  of  common  concern  with  others.  It  is  only 
the  few  who  have  firm  opinions  about  anything 
but  their  own  affairs.  About  public  affairs 
the  majority  need  the  strengthening  influence 
of  agreement  with  others,  —  a  fact  of  human 
nature  in  which,  probably,  party  takes  its  rise. 
There  is  a  certain  feeling  of  pride  and  of  strength 
and  importance  in  belonging  to  an  organized 
body  of  any  sort,  whether  a  regiment,  a  club,  or 
a  union,  as  we  see  in  the  multitude  of  associa- 
tions which  spring  up  in  a  free  country,  and 
which  the  mass  of  men  love  to  join.  As  soon 
as  you  have  secured  a  man's  devotion  to  his 
party,  either  through  respect  for  its  principles, 
or  through  pride  in  its  action  on  some  great 
occasion,  or  through  admiration  of  its  leaders,  or 


64  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

through  liking  for  that  portion  of  it  with  which 
he  comes  in  contact,  the  task  of  getting  him  to 
support  its  platform  or  candidates  is  greatly 
lightened.  Indeed,  argument  ceases  to  be  neces- 
sary. A  presumption  that  the  party  is  always 
right,  even  when  it  seems  to  him  at  the  first 
blush  wrong,  arises  in  his  mind.  He  becomes 
what  is  known  as  "  a  lifelong  Democrat "  or  "  a 
lifelong  Republican  j "  that  is,  a  Democrat  or  a 
Republican  who  does  not  need  to  be  convinced 
at  every  election,  but  who,  having  been  satisfied 
early  in  life  that  his  party  was  the  best  party, 
remains  convinced,  no  matter  how  the  platform 
may  at  first  run  counter  to  his  beliefs,  or  how 
much  he  may  disapprove  of  the  candidates.  In 
this  way,  large  numbers  of  persons  who  have 
not  time  or  head  for  politics,  remain  always  con- 
firmed and  unshakable  conservatives  or  radicals. 
This  is  interesting  as  throwing  some  light  on 
the  nature  and  origin  of  what  is  called  "loyalty," 
—  a  feeling  of  attachment  to  a  ruler  in  virtue  of 
his  office  that  was  unknown  to  the  ancient  world, 
but  has  played  a  prominent  part  in  the  politics 
of  the  mediaeval  and  modern  world.  Loyalty 
does  not  really  depend  upon  the  character  of  a 
ruler,  but  upon  his  filling  a  certain  office  through 
hereditary  title.  The  prince  still  remains  enti- 
tled to  as  much  devotion  as  the  follower  is  capa- 
ble of,  no  matter  what  the  royal  conduct  may 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  66 

be.  To  meet  the  chance  of  his  behaving  badly, 
the  fiction  of  bad  advisers  was  invented,  and 
grew  into  the  ministerial  responsibility  of  limited 
monarchies.  The  king  can  do  no  wrong  except 
through  the  suggestions  of  bad  men,  whose  re- 
moval from  his  councils  restores  the  power  of 
his  natural  inclination  to  do  right.  The  trans- 
fer of  this  feeling  of  loyalty  to  party  has  been 
accomplished  within  the  present  century  in  the 
American  democracy.  There  is  no  doubt  that 
in  the  early  days  of  the  government  what  is 
called  "  party  spirit "  ran  high,  but  it  consisted 
mainly  in  abhorrence  or  detestation  of  the  prin- 
ciples of  the  other  party,  rather  than  in  devotion 
to  or  admiration  of  one's  own.  That  the  party 
had  not  become  the  power  it  now  is,  we  see  from 
the  ease  and  swiftness  with  which  both  the  Fed- 
eralist and  Whig  parties  disappeared  under  the 
influence  of  mistakes  or  adversity.  The  history 
of  both  Whigs  and  Democrats  at  a  later  period, 
however,  shows  that  the  feeling  of  party  devo- 
tion was  rapidly  growing.  Down  to  the  out- 
break of  the  war,  the  number  of  those  who  were 
hereditary  Whigs  or  hereditary  Democrats  — 
that  is,  Whigs  or  Democrats  because  their  fathers 
were,  just  like  the  old  Jacobites  in  England  or 
the  Legitimists  in  France  —  was  large.  Men 
told  you  how  they  were  brought  up  to  admire 
Jackson  or  admire  Clay,  and  were  therefore 


66  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

under  a  sort  of  romantic  obligation  to  vote  the 
Democratic  ticket  or  the  Whig  ticket,  and  to 
approve  of  measures  fathered  by  either  of  the 
parties. 

After  the  war,  the  Republican  party,  which 
had  really  taken  the  place  of  the  Whig  party, 
came  out  of  the  conflict  with  claims  on  popular 
confidence  and  gratitude  for  which  there  is  no 
parallel  in  political  history  except  those  of  the 
English  Whigs  after  the  Revolution  of  1688. 
It  had  saved  from  an  immense  disaster  a  great 
number  of  things  which  the  nation  valued,  and 
there  followed  from  this  a  strong  presumption  of 
its  wisdom  and  virtue.  It  consequently  retains 
the  devotion  of  a  large  body  of  the  nation  in 
spite  of  errors  or  mishaps;  but  so  does  the  Demo- 
cratic party ;  men  vote  both  tickets  in  large 
bodies,  without  reference  to  measures  or  men, 
under  the  influence  of  simple  party  loyalty. 
Even  in  the  government  of  cities,  when  affairs 
in  no  way  connected  with  national  politics  are 
under  discussion,  it  is  found  very  difficult  to  get 
them  considered  from  any  but  the  federal  party 
point  of  view.  Men  vote  as  Democrats  or  as 
Republicans  about  the  police  or  the  gas  or  the 
mayor,  and  can  give  no  reason  except  that  this 
is  what  they  have  always  done. 

Now,  this  party  loyalty,  this  confidence  that 
one's  own  party  is  the  best  party  to  have  power, 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  67 

is  the  basis  of  the  present  mode  of  management, 
and  the  origin  of  what  is  called  "  the  machine." 
It  is  the  confidence  of  the  managers  that  they 
may  rely  on  loyalty  to  the  party  to  secure  votes, 
however  weak  may  be  their  title,  which  makes 
the  machine  possible.  The  machine  consists  of 
one  or  a  dozen  men  in  each  county  or  district, 
charged  with  the  duty  of  seeing  that  party 
loyalty  is  kept  alive  under  all  circumstances,  of 
seeing  that  all  persons  entitled  to  vote  do  vote 
in  a  certain  way,  and  of  protecting  them  against 
the  influence  of  hostile  arguments,  or  it  may  be 
of  giving  them  a  taste  of  these  advantages  of 
loyalty  at  once,  by  promises  of  employment,  or 
of  advertising,  or  of  cash,  or  of  custom,  or  of 
patronage.  The  machine,  therefore,  is  con- 
stantly working  against  and  discrediting  discus- 
sion, either  of  men  or  of  measures.  Loyalty 
does  not  discuss ;  it  acts,  and  it  has  a  certain 
contempt  for  the  balancing  of  arguments.  Given 
party  loyalty  and  the  nominating  convention, 
and  the  creation  of  the  machine  becomes  easy. 

But  in  creating  the  machine  a  beginning  is 
made  with  the  primary.  The  hypothesis  that 
one's  own  party  is  always  the  best  party  rests  on 
another  hypothesis  :  that  in  every  district  the 
primary  is  attended  by  all  those  who  have  a 
right  to  attend  it,  and  that  they  take  part  in  its 
proceedings.  The  falsehood  of  this  assumption 


68  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

is  notorious.  A  fair  sample  of  what  may  or  does 
happen  in  the  cities  was  afforded  by  an  exami- 
nation made  by  twenty-five  leading  Republicans 
into  the  conduct  of  the  Republican  primaries  in 
New  York  in  1895.  It  was  thereby  shown  that 
frauds  in  the  proceedings  were  practiced  on  a 
very  great  scale  ;  that  large  numbers  of  persons 
voted  at  the  primaries  who  had  no  right  to  do 
so ;  and  that  an  enrollment  secured  in  this  way 
was,  the  investigators  said,  unworthy  of  "  seri- 
ous attention."  That  this  happens  continuously 
in  the  great  cities  there  is  no  reason  to  doubt. 
But  exposures  of  this  kind  are  made  only  occa- 
sionally, because  exposures  come  from  internal 
dissensions,  the  quarrels  of  two  factions  within 
the  party.  These  differences  rarely  arise  about 
measures.  They  are  generally  caused  by  dis- 
putes about  offices.  As  long  as  there  is  no  dis- 
agreement on  this  point,  little  is  revealed  about 
the  constitution  or  procedure  of  the  primaries  in 
the  cities.  In  the  case  here  cited,  although  the 
frauds  were  brought  to  light  after  an  elaborate 
investigation,  nothing  was  ever  done  to  punish 
them  or  prevent  their  having  effect.  The  dele- 
gates thus  elected  took  part  in  the  presidential 
nomination  almost  without  remonstrance. 

But  the  attendance  of  persons  who  have  no 
right  to  vote  at  primaries  is  not  more  remarkable 
or  frequent  than  the  non-attendance  of  those 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  69 

who  have  the  right.  In  the  cities  the  proportion 
of  the  actual  vote  cast  to  the  total  enrollment  is 
rarely  over  one  third.  In  the  country  the  same 
thing  happens.  From  inquiries  I  have  made  of 
competent  authorities,  it  would  appear  that  even 
in  New  England  the  attendance  of  the  voters  at 
the  party  primaries  is  very  small. 

I  mention  New  England  because  it  is  the  part 
of  the  country  in  which  American  political  cus- 
toms have  arisen,  and  in  which  the  most  serious 
view  has  always  been  taken  of  politics.  New 
York  and  Pennsylvania  may  be  said  to  represent 
more  distinctly  than  any  other  part  of  the  coun- 
try what  America  is  to  be  hereafter  in  the  mat- 
ter of  wealth  and  population,  and  complexity  of 
interests,  and  the  growth  of  great  cities.  The 
cities  are  everywhere  gaining  on  the  country  in 
number  of  inhabitants ;  that  is,  the  population 
is  becoming  more  and  more  urban,  and  we  may 
therefore  conclude  that  the  smaller  towns,  as 
they  grow,  will  become  more  and  more  assimi- 
lated in  political  manners  and  customs  to  New 
York,  Philadelphia,  and  Chicago,  and  will  exer- 
cise a  controlling  influence  on  the  government. 
To  check  this  prospective  preponderance,  the 
'recently  amended  Constitution  of  New  York 
contains  a  provision  that  what  is  to  be  the 
Greater  New  York  shall  never  contribute  more 
than  half  the  members  of  the  Senate.  So  that 


70  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

the  difficulty  of  securing  the  attendance  of 
voters  at  the  primaries,  in  so  far  as  it  is  affected 
by  numbers,  is  likely  to  increase  rather  than 
diminish,  and  the  importance  of  party  loyalty  to 
the  managers  of  parties  is  likely  to  grow,  pro- 
viding the  present  system  of  nomination  con- 
tinues. 

This  failure  on  the  part  of  the  bulk  of  the 
voters  to  attend  the  primaries  for  the  purpose  of 
participating  in  the  choice  of  candidates  ap- 
pears to  be  due  to  causes  not  foreseen  by  the 
earlier  Democrats.  One  is  the  decreased  interest 
in  politics  caused  by  increased  individual  activity 
and  complexity  of  private  affairs.  The  contrast 
between  the  world  at  the  beginning  of  this  cen- 
tury and  the  world  in  our  day  consists  not  less 
in  increase  of  population  than  in  increase  in  the 
number  of  occupations,  in  facilities  for  making 
money,  and  in  ease  of  moving  from  place  to 
place.  It  is  simply  impossible,  considering  the 
limits  of  human  powers,  for  a  man  living  in 
1897  to  feel  the  same  interest  in  the  working  of 
the  machinery  of  his  political  party  as  the  man 
living  in  1817.  The  demands  of  other  things 
on  his  attention  are  infinitely  greater  ;  so  are  his 
opportunities  of  improving  his  condition ;  so  is 
the  area  over  which  he  may  extend  his  activity. 
The  whole  world,  one  may  say,  is  his  field. 
Literature,  science,  art,  invention,  philanthropy, 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  71 

make  drafts  on  his  attention  of  which  his  great- 
grandfather never  dreamed.  A  good  illustra- 
tion of  this  change  in  the  world's  outlook  may  be 
found  in  Pepys's  "  Diary."  When  Pepys,  living 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
met  friends,  they  were  apt  to  adjourn  to  a  tav- 
ern and  sing  songs  together  or  to  one  another. 
This  meant  scarcity  of  topics  of  conversation. 
Their  world  was  a  very  small  one,  in  which  few 
things  occurred  worth  talking  about.  At  that 
time  attendance  on  political  primaries  would 
have  been  a  distraction  as  well  as  a  duty,  and 
the  merits  of  candidates  would  have  been  dis- 
cussed with  keen  zest.  In  our  day,  song-sing- 
ing to  one  another,  among  men,  would  be  looked 
upon  as  an  extremely  silly  and  uninteresting 
practice.  To  the  agricultural  communities 
which  composed  the  civilized  world  at  the  begin- 
ning of  this  century  it  would  not  have  seemed 
so.  In  brief,  private  affairs  have  assumed,  in 
these  later  days,  an  importance  as  compared  to 
public  affairs  which  our  forefathers  never  could 
have  anticipated.  This  state  of  things  is  caus- 
ing everywhere  a  demand  for  government  with- 
out trouble,  or  with  very  little  trouble.  The 
demand  for  good  and  enlightened  government  is 
as  great  as  ever;  but  the  desire  for  simple  gov- 
ernment, which  can  be  carried  on  without  draw- 
ing largely  on  the  time  and  attention  of  the  pri- 


72  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

vate  citizen,  is  greater  than  ever.  Government 
was  never  so  much  considered  as  a  means  to  an 
end,  and  not  as  an  end  in  itself,  as  it  is  to-day, 
—  a  mode  of  looking  at  it  which  goes  far  to 
explain  the  success  of  "  the  man  on  horseback," 
or  dictator,  in  troubled  communities. 

From  the  tune  of  the  Reformation  until  about 
1830,  men  were  mainly  occupied  upon  political 
freedom ;  the  great  concern  of  our  day  is  do- 
mestic comfort,  what  is  called  success  in  life,  or, 
in  other  words,  pecuniary  independence.  We 
are  mainly  interested  in  this.  We  are  eager 
that  all  should  enjoy  it,  even  the  poor.  Our 
questions  are  social  questions.  Political  liberty 
has  passed  into  the  category  of  natural  and 
usual  things,  like  railroad  traveling.  We  are 
now  troubled  about  lodgings,  diet,  reading- 
rooms,  old  age,  pensions,  and  the  "  living  wage." 
Consequently,  there  has  for  a  long  while  been  a 
decreasing  interest  in  politics,  except  on  great 
occasions,  on  the  part  of  the  busy,  active,  intel- 
ligent portion  of  the  community.  This  tendency 
has  been  strengthened  in  our  country  by  the 
slow  or  imperfect  action  of  the  vote  on  the  con- 
duct of  public  affairs.  It  is  not  exciting  to  vote 
in  November  for  a  congressman  who  will  have 
no  influence  on  legislation  or  administration  for 
a  year  to  come.  This  is  the  arrangement  of  an 
older  world,  and  one  very  different  from  ours. 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  73 

This  is  also  true  of  the  election  of  legislators  or 
executive  officers.  One  election  is  as  much  as 
the  bulk  of  citizens  in  the  great  centres  of  in- 
dustry and  population  are  willing  to  give  time 
to.  The  number  of  abstentions  from  the  polls 
among  the  intelligent  classes  in  cities  is  very 
great.  But  the  mere  selection  of  candidates  un- 
der our  present  system  involves  two  elections,  a 
double  demand  on  time  and  attention.  Experi- 
ence has  shown  that  the  average  citizen  will  not 
answer  this  demand.  The  effect  of  his  vote  on 
a  result  which  is  not  final  is  too  uncertain  to 
interest  him.  He  dismisses  from  his  mind  the 
whole  process  of  selection,  and  falls  back  upon 
loyalty  to  his  party  as  a  sufficient  guide  in  ordi- 
nary times.  It  is  only  at  periods  of  great  excite- 
ment, or  great  party  excess,  such  as  1860  or 
1884,  that  he  troubles  himself  about,  or  rises 
in  revolt  against,  the  choice  of  candidates. 

The  result  of  this  is  that  the  work  of  choos- 
ing party  candidates  through  the  nominating 
machinery  has  fallen,  as  it  were  naturally,  into 
the  hands  of  an  idle  class,  which  either  loves 
political  intrigue  or  does  not  look  further  in 
politics  than  salaried  offices,  and  a  large  portion 
of  which  consists  of  men  who  either  have  failed 
in  life,  or  have  never  had  any  regular  occupa- 
tion. In  their  hands  the  work  of  nomination 
has  been  reduced  to  a  sort  of  game,  of  consid- 


74  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

erable  complication,  beginning  with  the  holding 
of  primaries,  fraudulent  or  very  thinly  attended, 
and  conducted  solely  with  the  view  of  turning 
out  a  result  secretly  determined  beforehand, 
either  by  a  small  knot  of  persons  termed  "  the 
machine,"  or  by  a  single  person  known  as  "  the 
boss,"  who  directs  the  whole  operation.  The 
object  of  the  primaries  is  no  longer  to  express 
the  will  of  the  party,  but  to  secure  for  certain 
designated  persons  the  support  of  party  loyalty. 
The  process  is  based  on  the  confidence  of  those 
who  conduct  it  that,  whatever  the  result  may  be, 
the  voters  will  accept  it,  for  the  sake  of  the 
party.  The  consequence  is  that  the  objections 
made  originally  to  nomination  by  Congress  or  by 
the  legislatures  —  that  the  nominators  are  self- 
constituted,  and  that  the  bulk  of  the  party  is 
not  consulted  —  are  fully  applicable  to  the  pre- 
sent mode  of  nomination.  We  have  come  back, 
under  much  more  unfavorable  conditions,  to  the 
earlier  system,  with  more  than  all  its  faults. 

It  is  a  dangerous  thing  to  attempt  to  describe 
causes  in  politics;  that  is,  to  say  exactly  to  what 
particular  cause  any  political  phenomenon  is  due. 
In  truth,  it  may  be  said  that  nothing  in  politics 
has  only  one  cause.  Everything  is  due  to  a  com- 
position or  combination  of  causes.  The  utmost 
we  can  aver  is  that,  of  the  several  agencies  which 
bring  a  thing  about,  one  has  been  unusually 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  75 

powerful.  What  we  call  the  machine,  for  in- 
stance, has  undoubtedly  affected  public  life  and 
political  manners  unfavorably;  but  then  the  ma- 
chine could  hardly  have  grown  to  its  present 
proportions  without  public  apathy;  and  public 
apathy,  in  turn,  is  due  partly  to  the  machine, 
and  partly  to  the  size  of  the  masses  which  have 
to  be  handled  and  must  be  persuaded,  before 
any  direct  effect  can  be  produced.  So  we  find 
ourselves  almost  in  a  vicious  circle  in  accounting 
for  any  of  the  leading  features  of  our  demo- 
cracy. Government  is,  undoubtedly,  the  product 
of  the  national  character ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
it  does  much  to  mould  the  national  character. 
The  machine  has  assumed  functions  which  have 
to  be  discharged  by  somebody,  but  in  dischar- 
ging them  it  produces  indifference  or  dislike  of 
the  work  among  the  rest  of  the  community.  The 
machine  does  not  persuade.  It  acts,  it  arranges, 
it  provides  candidates  and  platforms,  but  it 
rather  discourages  persuasion.  It  does  not  sup- 
port its  candidates  by  arguments,  but  by  appeals 
to  party  loyalty.  The  voter  is  asked  to  support 
this  or  that  candidate,  not  on  account  of  his 
principles  or  character,  but  because  he  is  the 
party  candidate.  But  there  is  nothing  in  a 
democracy  so  important  as  persuasion.  That 
this  work  should  be  well  done,  and  done  con- 
tinuously, is  one  of  the  conditions  of  healthy 


76  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

national  life.  Indeed,  it  may  be  called  the  heart 
of  democracy,  which  sends  the  blood  through  all 
the  national  arteries.  As  soon  as  it  ceases,  circu- 
lation becomes  languid  or  intermittent,  the  polit- 
ical institutions  of  a  country  become  anaemic, 
and  a  dictator,  or  single  ruler  of  some  sort, 
appears  in  the  distance. 

The  machine  undertakes  the  work  of  provid- 
ing the  voter  with  candidates  and  getting  him  to 
come  to  the  polls,  but  it  does  not  undertake  the 
previous  process  of  keeping  him  informed  about 
the  rights  and  wrongs  of  public  questions.  It 
undertakes,  if  I  may  say  so,  to  keep  party  spirit, 
but  not  public  spirit,  alive.  It  does  not  attempt 
any  regular  work  of  public  instruction.  In  fact, 
it  discourages  discussion,  and  presents  for  leader- 
ship men  clever  in  management  rather  than  men 
clever  in  oratory,  men  skillful  in  a  certain  kind 
of  intrigue  for  the  party  benefit,  rather  than  men 
skillful  in  propagating  ideas  of  any  kind.  To 
this  change  in  the  type  of  the  public  men  I  ven- 
ture to  ascribe  the  frequency  of  what  are  called 
"  crazes,"  of  late  years ;  that  is,  the  sudden  seiz- 
ure of  the  popular  mind  by  enthusiasm  for  some 
extravagant  idea,  or  some  scheme  opposed  to 
human  experience  and  unwarranted  by  human 
knowledge.  This  disappears  after  a  while  be- 
fore what  is  called  "  a  campaign  of  education." 
A  campaign  of  education,  such  as  we  have  had 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  77 

to  carry  on  against  the  greenback  movement  of 
1875,  or  the  excessive  tariff  of  1890,  or  the  sil- 
ver craze  of  1896,  is  in  reality  an  attempt  to  do 
in  a  few  months,  under  stress  of  some  pressing 
danger,  the  work  of  instruction  which  should  be 
constantly  going  on.  This  constant  persuasion 
or  instruction  must  be  a  condition  of  all  safe 
and  successful  democracy,  and  to  be  carried  on 
fruitfully  should  be  carried  on  by  public  men. 
In  the  English  democracy,  one  of  the  most 
wholesome  signs  of  the  tunes,  is  the  incessant 
appearance,  both  before  and  during  the  meeting 
of  Parliament,  of  public  men  on  the  stump.  In 
fact,  addressing  his  constituents  on  all  the  lead- 
ing questions  of  the  day,  home  and  foreign,  is 
as  much  a  part  of  an  English  leading  politician's 
functions  as  sitting  in  his  place  in  the  legisla- 
ture during  the  session.  It  is  part,  and  a  most 
important  part,  of  popular  education.  The  dis- 
continuance of  this  practice  among  us  is  one  of 
the  bad  signs  of  our  times.  There  are  but  few 
of  our  public  men  who  ever  address  an  audience 
except  during  some  exciting  canvass,  and  they 
then  deal  mainly  in  generalities,  such  as  praise 
of  their  own  party  or  denunciations  of  the  other. 
Thorough  discussion  of  distinct  measures  or 
events  from  all  points  of  view,  such  as  the  dis- 
cussions of  the  currency  question  which  took 
place  during  the  campaign  of  education  in  1896, 
is  very  rare,  almost  unknown. 


78  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

It  may  be  said  that  this  work  is  done  by  our 
press,  but  nothing  could  be  further  from  the 
truth.  There  are  but  few  newspapers  which  are 
conducted  by  men  equipped  for  such  work,  and 
there  are  but  few  editors,  however  well  equipped, 
who  undertake  it ;  nor  does  the  public  expect  it 
of  them.  The  ephemeral  and  superficial  char- 
acter of  the  newspaper  is  so  deeply  impressed 
on  the  popular  American  mind,  that  the  editor 
who  attempts  anything  of  the  kind  may  al- 
most be  said  to  face  a  hostile  or  an  indifferent 
audience.  Even  if  the  newspapers  do  it,  they 
cannot  do  it  with  the  authority  of  a  speaker 
actively  engaged  in  the  work  of  legislation.  The 
work  of  newspapers  is  really  most  effective  when 
it  consists  in  enforcing  or  spreading  the  views 
of  distinguished  public  men,  —  always  supposing 
that  such  men  have  the  weight  and  authority 
they  ought  to  have.  The  virtual  disappearance 
of  these  men  from  our  political  arena  is  compara- 
tively recent.  If  I  said  that  it  commenced  with 
the  appearance  and  growth  of  the  machine,  I 
should  not  be  far  wrong.  There  are  plenty  of 
men  living  who  in  earlier  days  did  not  make 
up  their  minds  about  any  public  question  with- 
out hearing  from  Webster,  or  Clay,  or  Calhoun, 
or  Silas  Wright,  or  Marcy,  or  Seward ;  and  they 
never  had  to  wait  very  long.  These  leaders 
spoke  on  the  question,  either  in  Congress  or  on 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  79 

the  platform,  with  a  distinctness,  reasonableness, 
and  thoughtfulness  which  make  their  collected 
speeches,  even  to-day,  very  valuable  fountains  of 
information  and  suggestion.  I  myself  can  re- 
member the  time  when  the  opinion  of  his  party  in 
New  York  was  not  fully  formed  until  William 
H.  Seward  had  said  his  say ;  when  the  business 
of  the  newspapers  was  mainly  to  comment  upon 
and  enforce  his  views;  and  when  the  nearest 
approach  we  had  to  a  boss  was  a  devoted  fol- 
lower of  an  eminent  public  man,  steadily  engaged 
in  spreading  his  fame  and  pushing  his  political 
fortunes. 

Now,  what  is  the  reason  of  this  change,  of  the 
disappearance  of  this  class  of  men  from  public 
life,  and  of  the  comparative  silence  of  those  we 
have  left  ?  In  answering  this  question  I  bear  in 
mind  the  caution  I  have  already  expressed  against 
giving  only  one  cause  for  political  effects ;  but  I 
can  myself  make  no  analysis  of  American  politi- 
cal manners  which  does  not  prove  that  the  con- 
trol of  all  entrance  to  public  life  by  the  boss  and 
the  machine  is  the  chief  reason  why  we  are  cut 
off  from  political  instruction  by  people  actually 
engaged  in  the  work  of  government.  There  is 
no  term  of  politics  more  frequently  used  than 
the  term  "  responsibility,"  but  the  popular  notion 
of  its  meaning  is  very  vague.  Men  in  office  live 
under  two  kinds  of  responsibility.  One  is  the 


80  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

theoretical  responsibility,  under  all  political  con- 
stitutions, of  officials  to  the  people  who  elect 
them  and  pay  them.  But  the  other,  and  the  one 
far  more  strongly  felt,  is  responsibility  to  those 
from  whom  they  get  the  permission  to  contend 
for  the  prizes  of  public  life.  These,  and  not  the 
people,  are  their  real  masters.  It  is  they  who 
permit  them  to  enter  on  the  public  stage ;  it  is 
they  who  can  dismiss  them  or  close  their  politi- 
cal career.  The  one  is  a  vague,  theoretical,  or 
literary  responsibility ;  the  other  is  real,  practi- 
cal, and  constantly  present  to  every  office-holder's 
mind.  The  boss  and  the  machine  hold  the  keys 
to  all  our  leading  offices.  It  is  they  who  say 
whether  a  man  shall  even  be  allowed  to  compete 
for  public  favor.  It  is  they  who  decide  whether 
a  second  term  in  office  shall  be  accorded  to  him, 
whether  his  career  in  public  life  shall  be  closed 
or  continued.  This  question,  as  he  knows  well, 
is  determined  by  considerations  which  have  little 
to  do  with  the  real  value  of  his  public  services. 
It  is  determined  by  secret  rules  of  distribution  in 
the  matter  of  offices,  of  which  every  boss  has  a 
code.  Whether  the  man  shall  have  a  nomina- 
tion depends  largely,  not  on  his  exposition  of 
political  doctrine  or  on  his  advocacy  of  certain 
measures,  but  on  his  services  as  an  instrumen- 
tality for  the  division  of  patronage ;  for  it  is  with 
patronage  simply,  and  but  rarely  with  measures 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  81 

of  policy,  that  the  boss  occupies  himself.  It  is 
he  who  decides  what  kind  of  office  one  who 
wishes  to  enter  public  life  shall  hold;  whether 
he  shall  be  a  state  legislator  or  congressman,  a 
superintendent  of  insurance  or  the  governor  of  a 
state.  I  have  a  case  in  mind  where  a  man  of 
some  ability  was  ordered  by  the  boss  to  resign 
his  seat  in  Congress  in  order  to  become  a  city 
treasurer,  and  the  order  was  immediately  obeyed. 
It  is  to  the  boss  that  such  a  man  has  to  render 
an  account  of  his  official  career.  It  is  the  boss 
whom  he  has  to  please  by  his  votes  and  speeches. 
It  is  the  boss  whose  dissatisfaction  may  ruin 
him. 

This  power  of  the  boss,  too,  is  rendered  all 
the  more  effective  by  our  custom  of  insisting 
upon  the  candidate's  residence  in  the  particular 
district  or  locality  which  he  seeks  to  represent. 
In  France  and  England  all  constituencies  can 
choose  their  representatives  among  all  the  politi- 
cians in  the  kingdom,  no  matter  where  they  live. 
It  is  thus  nearly  impossible  for  the  dissatisfac- 
tion of  one  constituency  to  exclude  a  man  from 
political  life.  If  he  offends  or  fails  to  satisfy 
one,  he  can,  if  a  man  of  distinction,  almost  cer- 
tainly find  another.  If  he  quarrels  with  one 
local  boss  or  caucus,  some  other  is  generally 
glad  to  take  him  up.  But  with  us,  a  quarrel 
with  the  boss  of  his  residence  or  home  is  fatal 


82  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

to  a  politician's  prospects.  This  residential  quali- 
fication is  the  one  thing  needed  to  make  the 
boss's  power  over  him  complete. 

Thus  I  am  forced  to  the  conclusion  that  it  is 
this  real  responsibility  to  the  boss  and  the  cau- 
cus, and  not  to  the  public,  which  accounts  for 
the  disappearance  of  distinguished  men  from 
public  life,  and  for  the  decline  of  instructive 
political  oratory.  The  inducement  to  public 
speaking  is  a  desire  to  affect  the  opinion  of 
those  who  have  real  power  over  a  man's  career. 
There  are  probably  few  men  who  would  under- 
take it  for  the  mere  purpose  of  showing  that 
they  have  something  to  say.  They  speak  to  in- 
crease their  influence  with  the  public  j  to  prove 
their  fidelity  as  public  servants  ;  to  insure  a  con- 
tinuance of  public  confidence  in  them,  and  thus 
to  insure  their  continuance  in  the  official  posi- 
tions they  occupy.  When  the  public  has  ceased 
to  possess  any  power  over  their  political  career, 
when  their  renomination  no  longer  depends  upon 
public  favor,  the  necessity  of  conciliating  or  im- 
pressing the  public  is  naturally  less  felt,  if  felt 
at  all.  The  boss  controls  every  office  in  the 
principal  states.  He  does  not  unite  these  offices 
in  his  own  person,  as  Augustus  or  Tiberius  did, 
but  he  designates  the  persons  who  are  to  hold 
them,  and  they  accept  his  dicta  with  increasing 
docility.  It  is,  therefore,  not  surprising  that 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  83 

the  boss's  wishes,  his  idiosyncrasies,  his  stand- 
ards of  political  efficiency  and  duty,  and  not 
those  of  the  public,  should  be  constantly  pre- 
sent to  the  candidate's  mind ;  that  he  should 
seek  most  of  all  to  please  the  boss.  For  oratory 
the  boss  has  no  use  or  admiration.  His  ideal  of 
a  public  man  is  one  who  votes  right,  but  does 
not  talk,  while  the  public  has  but  little  taste  for 
or  interest  in  the  man  who  does  not  put  him- 
self in  frequent  and  interesting  communication 
with  it.  I  dare  say  there  are  few  in  New  York 
to-day  who  know  the  names  of  more  than  one  or 
two  of  the  Representatives  in  Congress  from  the 
city.  The  man  in  office  feels  but  one  responsi- 
bility ;  for  no  man  can  serve  two  masters,  and 
the  power  which  gave  him  his  place  and  can 
take  it  away,  is  the  master  whom  he  seeks  to 
serve  in  the  ways  the  master  prefers. 

It  is  hardly  necessary  to  dweU  on  the  effect 
of  this  on  the  tone  of  public  life.  But  there  is 
one  point  connected  with  the  making  of  what  is 
called  "  tone  "  which  ought  not  to  be  passed 
without  mention,  and  that  is  the  necessity,  for 
its  maintenance,  of  complete  publicity  as  to  the 
reasons  for  which  a  man  gets  office.  There  is 
nothing  more  necessary  for  the  maintenance  of 
what  I  may  call  political  health  than  that  all 
the  world  should  know  why  a  certain  man  gets 
a  certain  place.  The  distribution  of  place  for 


84  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

secret  reasons  is  one  of  the  worst  abuses  of  des- 
potism, and  the  possibility  of  its  return  among 
us  used  to  be  dwelt  on  with  a  certain  terror  by 
the  earlier  commentators  on  the  Constitution. 
Of  course,  I  speak  only  of  the  larger  and  more 
responsible  places  concerning  which  public  cu- 
riosity is  excited.  If  these  are  even  partially 
filled  by  men  who  do  not  appear  to  have  reached 
them  by  what  Burke  called  "  manly  arts,"  — 
that  is,  by  public  services  or  openly  ascertained 
qualifications,  —  the  effect  on  tone  is  very  rapid 
and  very  marked;  for  tone  consists  not  more  in 
self-respect  than  in  respect  for  those  with  whom 
one  has  to  act.  All  attainment  of  public  places 
by  secret  favor  or  intrigue,  and  the  sudden  ap- 
pearance in  responsible  positions,  for  reasons 
unknown  to  the  community,  of  men  of  patent 
unfitness,  naturally  lowers  in  their  own  estima- 
tion all  the  rest  of  the  body  to  which  they 
belong. 

It  is  hardly  within  my  plan  to  speak  of  reme- 
dies, and  yet  no  discussion  even  of  the  tenden- 
cies of  our  nominating  system  would  be  adequate 
which  did  not  make  some  attempt  to  say  whether 
any  substitute  for  it  can  be  provided.  I  do  not 
conceal  my  belief  that  the  present  system  is  the 
great  canker  of  American  institutions.  I  do  not 
believe  it  can  be  long  practiced  without  chang- 
ing the  structure  of  the  government.  It  is 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  86 

accustoming  the  less  intelligent  class  to  what  is 
really  a  new  form,  and  is  reducing  the  more 
intelligent  to  the  despair  of  helplessness ;  and 
yet  the  maintenance  intact  of  any  government 
depends  largely  on  popular  habit  and  confidence. 
No  constitution  can  retain  its  vigorous  vitality 
which  exists  on  paper  simply;  it  must  also  be 
rooted  in  popular  customs  and  ideas.  The  type 
of  statesmanship  which  a  democratic  constitution 
calls  for  must  be  carefully  preserved,  and  so  must 
the  orthodox  sources  of  distinction.  Any  growing 
willingness  to  be  content  with  inferior  men  has 
to  be  combated  ;  the  old  ideals  must  be  upheld. 
But  when  we  come  to  speak  of  substitutes,  we  are 
met  at  the  outset  by  the  difficulty  that  the  persons 
to  be  reformed  are  in  the  possession  of  power,  and 
are  thoroughly  satisfied  with  the  present  system. 
They  predominate  in  Congress  and  in  most  of 
the  legislatures  in  the  country,  and  would  resist 
vigorously  any  attempt  at  change.  People  seek- 
ing something  different  at  their  hands  would  be 
likely  to  meet  with  the  same  reception  as  the 
European  democrats  who,  after  the  downfall  of 
Napoleon,  sought  constitutions  at  the  hands  of 
despotic  inonarchs.  The  class  called  the  politi- 
cians have  the  strongest  interest  in  the  mainte- 
nance of  the  existing  state  of  things.  Moreover, 
the  elected  convention  has  effected  such  a  lodg- 
ment in  our  political  manners  that  any  attempt 


86  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

at  change  would  possibly  be  met  with  a  good 
deal  of  popular  indifference  or  dislike. 

But  in  considering  remedies  we  have  of  course 
to  take  note  of  the  evils  to  be  remedied.  The 
primary  meeting  is  defective :  first,  in  that  the 
party  voters  attend  it  in  only  very  small  num- 
bers, and  consequently  it  has  ceased  to  express 
the  party  will,  or  expresses  it  only  very  inade- 
quately ;  second,  in  that,  as  we  know  it  at  pre- 
sent, it  offers  no  obstacles  to  the  carrying  out 
of  arrangements  made  secretly  and  beforehand 
by  the  boss  or  managers.  The  delegates  to 
be  elected  are  generally  decided  on  before  the 
primary  meets,  and  they  are  rarely  persons  who 
represent  the  intelligence  or  morality  of  the 
party.  Any  sufficient  remedy,  therefore,  would 
either  furnish  inducements  to  voters  to  attend 
the  party  primaries,  or  furnish  some  substitute 
for  the  primaries,  or  in  some  way  prevent  such 
secret  selections  as  are  now  made  by  the  boss  in 
advance  of  the  meeting. 

Dr.  Clarke,  of  Oswego,  who  has  labored  on 
this  question  for  a  great  many  years,  and  has 
produced  a  plan  of  reform  which  he  has  in  vain 
tried  to  get  embodied  in  legislation,  proposes  to 
overcome  the  difficulty  of  popular  indolence  and 
indifference  by  dividing  the  voters  into  small 
district  constituencies,  of  the  same  size  as  regards 
numbers,  and  drawn  by  lot  from  the  total  num- 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  87 

ber  of  registered  voters.  These  small  constitu- 
encies, say  of  one  hundred  apiece,  are  each  to 
choose  an  electoral  delegate,  and  the  assembly 
of  all  these  delegates  is,  in  a  city,  to  elect  the 
mayor  or  other  elective  officers.  This  is  in  effect, 
as  far  as  the  size  of  the  constituencies  is  con- 
cerned, really  the  present  system  in  a  rougher 
shape.  Each  district  is  treated  as  a  separate 
entity,  and  controlled  by  "a  leader,"  who  gen- 
erally gets  his  living  by  holding  some  inferior 
public  place,  and  keeps  the  voters  of  his  party 
in  discipline  and  order.  The  difference  comes 
when  Dr.  Clarke  proceeds  to  choose  the  "  elec- 
toral delegates."  The  machine  insists  on  desig- 
nating them  beforehand,  and  prescribing  for 
whom  they  shall  vote  in  any  election  in  which 
they  may  take  part.  Dr.  Clarke  would  conceal 
them  from  the  machine  by  selecting  them  by 
lot,  like  jurymen,  and  making  their  services 
compulsory.  The  plan,  then,  has  the  two  great 
merits  of  diminishing  the  size  of  the  constitu- 
encies in  an  orderly  manner,  and  of  concealing 
from  the  boss  the  delegates  who  would  be 
chosen.  But  the  difficulty  of  its  adoption  lies 
not  only  in  the  latter  fact,  but  also  in  the  fact 
that  it  obscures  or  hinders  the  direct  action, 
through  party  organization,  of  the  free  popu- 
lar will  which  the  masses  still  fondly  believe  to 
be  within  their  reach  and  which  they  strongly 


88  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

desire.     Its  adaptation  to  our  system  of  govern- 
ment, too,  is  therefore  not  so  simple.1 

Another  of  the  great  difficulties  of  party  pri- 
maries is  the  difficulty  of  determining  who  has  a 
right  to  vote  at  them.  The  present  mode  of 
nominating  assumes  that  a  man  always  belongs 
to  the  same  party,  and  always  votes  its  ticket 
under  all  circumstances.  Consequently,  the 
usual  qualification  for  a  party  voter  is  having 

1  Dr.  Clarke  has  complained  to  me  that  I  have  done  him  in- 
justice in  this  description  of  his  system,  and  has  sent  me  some 
further  elucidations  of  it,  which  I  have  read  carefully.  But  I 
am  still  unahle  to  see  where  I  have  gone  wrong.  I  acknowledge 
freely  the  very  great  improvement  it  would  effect  in  our  mode 
of  nominating.  I  have  simply  said  that  the  selection  of  the 
nominating  caucus  or  convention  by  lots  cast  by  the  whole  body 
of  the  voters  would  not  satisfy  party  preferences  which  are 
very  strong,  too  strong  I  admit,  among  Americans.  It  might 
often  result  in  Democrats  having  to  vote  for  Kepublicans,  or 
vice  versa.  In  other  words,  it  involves  the  disappearance  of 
party  distinctions  from  elections.  "  The  names  of  all  the  voters 
in  a  ward  are  deposited  in  a  panel.  They  are  drawn  therefrom 
by  lot  in  equal  companies  or  lots,  say,  of  100  each.  Each  of 
these  lots  is  a  "  primary  electoral  constituency,"  and  chooses 
"  an  electoral  delegate."  The  delegates  thus  chosen  meet  "  and 
elect  the  mayor  and  such  other  officers  of  the  city  at  large  as 
are  chosen  by  the  people."  This  would  be  an  excellent  system 
in  a  city  won  over  to  non-partisanship,  but  it  would  be  impossi- 
ble to  call  it  to  a  reform  in  our  nominating  system  unless  it 
could  be  used  for  state  and  national  elections.  I  have  asked 
Dr.  Clarke  what  provision  he  makes  for  party  preferences. 
He  answers,  "  I  make  none ;  what  I  seek  is  to  restore  the  people 
to  freedom."  What  I  fear  is,  that  the  people  will  insist  on 
provision  for  party  preference  in  any  nominating  system,  or  in 
other  words  refuse  freedom  on  Dr.  Clarke's  terms. 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  89 

voted  the  party  presidential  ticket  at  the  pre- 
vious election.  But  he  may  not  have  done  so, 
for  various  reasons  that  no  longer  have  any 
force ;  or  he  may  since  then  have  changed  his 
mind,  and  may  honestly  desire  to  change  his 
party.  Party  belongings  are  matters  of  opinion. 
We  can  only  know  from  a  man's  own  statement 
to  which  party  he  really  belongs,  and  it  is 
against  public  policy  to  throw  obstacles  in  the 
way  of  any  citizen's  going  freely  from  one  party 
to  another.  It  is  through  this  possibility  of 
change  that  public  opinion  acts  on  government. 
Yet  in  our  nominating  system  we  treat  party  as 
a  permanent  status,  the  loss  of  which  excludes  a 
man  from  all  share  in  the  work  of  nomination. 
For  instance,  unless  I  voted  for  Blaine  in  1884 
I  could  not  participate  in  the  selection  of  Harri- 
son in  1888,  and  unless  I  voted  for  Cleveland  in 
1888  I  should  have  been  incompetent  to  aid  in 
selecting  him  as  the  party  candidate  in  1892. 
So  that  in  devising  any  reform,  the  existence  and 
utility  of  parties  have  to  be  acknowledged,  and 
means  have  to  be  provided  for  recognizing  a 
genuine  party  man  and  for  the  protection  of 
primary  meetings  or  conventions  against  bogus 
voters.  I  have  not  heard  of  any  such  practical 
available  test,  and  the  invention  of  one,  as  long 
as  people  insist  on  government  through  party, 
will  be  difficult. 


90  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

The  only  mode  of  escape  from  this  difficulty 
as  yet  devised  is  what  is  called  "independent 
voting ; "  that  is,  refusal  to  belong  to  any  party, 
and  free  passage  from  one  to  another,  as  the 
circumstances  may  seem  to  require.  But  this 
necessarily  involves  the  abandonment  of  any 
share  in  the  work  of  selecting  party  candidates, 
and  shuts  the  voter  up  to  choice  between  two 
on  whose  nomination  he  has  had  no  influence. 
Moreover,  it  takes  out  of  each  party,  if  it  is  to 
be  effective,  a  large  body  of  the  most  thoughtful 
and  patriotic  of  the  voters ;  that  is,  of  persons 
who  still  retain  a  keen  sense  of  the  fact  that 
party  is  an  instrument,  not  an  end,  and  whose 
aid  would  be  most  valuable  in  raising  the  char- 
acter of  nominations.  I  do  not  think  I  err  in 
saying  that  the  power  of  the  machine  and  of  the 
boss  over  nominations  has  increased  pari  passu 
with  the  growth  of  independent  voting.  Each 
party,  in  getting  rid  of  its  more  mutinous  or 
recalcitrant  members,  solidifies  the  power  of  the 
machine,  makes  insurrection  less  frequent,  and 
renders  "  kicking,"  as  it  is  called,  more  odious. 
It  weeds  out  of  the  party  management,  too,  the 
element  most  sensitive  to  public  opinion,  and 
most  anxious  to  secure  the  approbation  of  the 
more  thoughtful  class  of  the  community.  What 
remains  is  composed  of  men  hardened  against 
criticism,  indifferent  to  all  approbation  or  dis- 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  91 

approbation  but  that  of  their  own  fellows,  and 
knowing  little  of  any  political  virtue  except  that 
of  fidelity  to  party  friends.  In  the  State  of 
New  York,  which  may  be  said  to  be  the  arena 
in  which  all  political  tendencies  first  show  them- 
selves, this  has  been  strikingly  true.  In  no 
other  state  is  the  independent  vote  so  powerful 
and  active  as  in  New  York,  and  in  none  is  the 
machine  so  audacious  or  so  insensible  to  warn- 
ing. The  overthrow  of  one  party  by  this  vote 
seems  only  to  suggest  imitation  to  the  other. 
Each  follows  closely  the  very  ways  which  have 
brought  ruin  on  its  predecessor,  so  that  the 
independent  vote  is  brought  almost  to  the  end 
of  its  resources.  It  can  punish  one  party  only 
by  putting  the  other  in  power,  but  this  party 
takes  care  that  the  condition  of  things  which 
brought  on  the  punishment  shall  continue  un- 
changed, and  even  finds  means  to  negotiate  with 
the  other  for  a  division  of  patronage. 

"Independent  voting"  then  has  clearly  ceased 
to  be  a  remedy.  Something  better  has  still  to 
be  found.  The  most  popular  remedy  is  throw- 
ing the  protection  of  law  around  the  caucus  or 
primary  meeting,  and  making  frauds  in  its  com- 
position, or  in  the  conduct  of  the  proceedings, 
criminal  offenses.  This,  it  is  true,  would  pre- 
vent such  cheating  as  took  place  in  New  York 
in  1895,  but  it  would  not  secure  a  larger  attend- 


92  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

ance  of  the  voters,  which  is  the  chief  need  of 
the  primary  meeting.  The  meeting  would  still 
fail  to  represent  the  bulk  of  the  party,  though 
the  law  might  make  those  who  were  present 
more  decorous.  And  as  assuredly  as  the  attend- 
ance continued  to  be  small,  it  would  be  con- 
trolled and  its  proceedings  be  prearranged  by 
those  who  had  personal  interest  in  being  present. 
Legalization  would  not  overcome  the  reluctance 
of  indolent  or  busy  voters  to  take  part  in  a  pro- 
ceeding which  was  not  conclusive,  and  in  which 
any  opposition  to  a  programme  previously  ar- 
ranged by  active  party  managers  would  make 
them  unpopular,  and  expose  them  to  discussions 
to  which  they  would  feel  unequal.  It  would 
prevent  gross  frauds  on  the  spot  and  make 
attendance  safe  and  orderly,  but  it  would  do 
nothing  towards  making  the  primary  a  full  repre- 
sentative of  party  opinion  and  feeling.  In  other 
words,  it  would  still  continue  to  grind  out  results 
carefully  prepared  by  the  boss,  and  the  art  of 
politics  would  continue  to  be  taught  to  our 
youth,  not  as  the  art  of  government,  but  as  the 
art  of  "  getting  delegates." 

Is  the  situation  then  hopeless?  Are  we  tied 
up  inexorably  simply  to  a  choice  of  evils  ?  I 
think  not.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  nomination 
of  candidates  is  another  of  the  problems  of 
democracy  which  are  never  seriously  attacked 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  93 

without  prolonged  perception  and  discussion  of 
iheir  importance.  One  of  these  was  the  forma- 
tion of  the  federal  government;  another  was 
the  abolition  of  slavery  ;  another  was  the  reform 
of  the  civil  service.  Every  one  of  them  looked 
hopeless  in  the  beginning ;  but  the  solution 
came,  in  each  case,  through  the  popular  deter- 
mination to  find  some  better  way.  In  all  ages 
this  has  been  one  of  the  democratic  character- 
istics. It  is  the  only  regime  in  which  there  is 
no  disposition  to  stagnate.  It  may  improve  or 
it  may  deteriorate,  but  it  is  an  incessant  move- 
ment, and  has  a  passion  for  experiments,  some 
of  which  end  badly,  but  those  which  have  be- 
hind them  the  general  human  instinctive  longing 
for  efficiency  are  apt  to  succeed  in  the  end. 

Since  the  foregoing  observations  were  written, 
an  attempt  at  a  remedy  has  been  made  in  New 
York,  which  has  met  with  a  very  encouraging 
measure  of  success.  The  supporters  of  Mr.  Low, 
the  independent  candidate  for  the  mayoralty  of 
the  "  Greater  New  York,"  having  broken  loose 
from  all  party  organizations,  determined  on  try- 
ing the  plan  of  nomination  by  petition,  that  is 
of  procuring  in  each  district  of  the  city  the 
legally  requisite  number  of  signatures  of  voters 
to  a  petition  requesting  Mr.  Low  to  become  a 
candidate.  Mr.  Low's  compliance  was  followed 
by  a  highly  instructive  canvass,  because  it  was 


94  THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM 

necessarily  free  from  irrelevant  matter,  such  as 
appeals  to  party  loyalty,  or  warnings  of  the  bad 
effect  of  party  defeat  on  other  than  municipal 
matters.  All  the  speeches  made  and  documents 
issued  necessarily  bore  on  the  issues  raised  by 
the  contest  for  the  mayoralty.  The  condition 
of  the  city  government,  its  causes  and  remedies, 
were  almost  the  only  matters  discussed.  The 
candidate,  having  no  party  support  to  rely  on,  or 
party  preferences  to  appeal  to,  was  compelled  to 
appear  personally  on  the  stump,  and  make  good 
his  own  claims  to  the  place.  The  campaign  was, 
in  fact,  in  the  best  sense  "  educational."  It 
was  violently  opposed  by  a  large  body  of  voters 
who  professed  to  have  the  same  aims  in  the 
affairs  of  the  city,  on  the  ground  of  want  of 
"  regularity,"  that  is,  a  departure  from  party 
rules  and  precedents,  or  in  other  words,  of  dis- 
regard of  the  caucus  system  of  nomination.  But 
the  result  was  a  vote  of  151,000  in  a  total  of 
526,000,  or  nearly  one  third.  As  a  first  at- 
tempt at  a  better  way,  this  must  be  considered 
very  encouraging.  It  has  shown  clearly  that  the 
caucus,  in  cities  at  least,  is  not  necessary,  and 
thus  has  got  rid  of  the  idea,  which  in  cities  is 
the  greatest  obstacle  to  the  discovery  of  a  rem- 
edy, that  for  purposes  of  nomination  there  must 
be  a  meeting,  in  a  certain  place,  at  a  certain 
time.  Nearly  all  efforts  now  being  made,  or 


THE  NOMINATING  SYSTEM  95 

which  have  been  made  to  "  reform  the  primary," 
assume  this  necessity.  They  all  arrange  for  an 
assemblage  of  some  sort.  But  a  primary  in  a 
city  or  large  town  consists  of  a  number  of 
people  unknown  to  each  other,  of  various  classes 
and  conditions  and  of  various  ages,  and  is  al- 
most certain  to  be  managed  by  those  who  make 
it  a  business  to  attend  to  "  politics,"  and  there- 
fore, like  all  meetings,  is  sure  to  be  confronted 
by  a  preconcerted  programme  prepared  by  those 
who  are  most  interested  in  the  result.  Opposi- 
tion to  this  programme  is  something  which  most 
voters  will  be  unwilling  to  undertake  publicly, 
either  through  timidity,  or  want  of  practice  in 
public  speaking,  or  ignorance  of  the  facts. 
They  will  therefore  either  remain  silent,  or 
more  probably  remain  at  home  and  allow  the 
plan  of  the  managers  to  be  carried  out  without 
opposition,  so  that  no  matter  how  many  guaran- 
tees the  law  may  provide  for  the  orderliness  or 
fairness  of  a  primary,  it  is  sure,  in  cities  or  large 
centres  of  population,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of 
the  professional  politicians.  Other  classes  will 
cease  to  attend,  for  the  simple  reason  that  they 
will  find  the  result  determined  on  before  they 
reach  the  place.  Therefore,  it  is  to  be  feared 
that  no  matter  how  often  we  reform  the  primary, 
the  non-appearance  of  the  better  class  of  voters 
is  pretty  sure,  in  the  end,  to  leave  the  work  of 
nomination  in  the  same  hands  as  before. 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 


THE  Roman  Senate  was  the  prototype  of  all 
modern  legislatures.  It  had  two  great  func- 
tions, auctoritas  and  consilium.  The  former 
was  practically  what  we  call  the  "  veto ; "  that 
is,  the  Senate  could  forbid  any  legislation  not 
originating  with  itself,  whether  proposed  by  the 
people  in  the  comitia  or  by  the  magistrates. 
Nothing  became  a  law  without  its  sanction.  The 
latter,  consilium,  was  nearly  what  we  call  "  ad- 
vice and  consent ;  "  that  is,  the  Senate  had  to 
pass  on  all  proposals  submitted  to  it  by  the  exec- 
utive officers,  and  approve  or  amend,  as  the  case 
might  be.  In  considering  the  proposals  of  the 
people,  it  decided  whether  they  were  wise  and 
Roman ;  but  it  consulted  with  the  magistrates 
concerning  every  important  action  or  enterprise 
about  to  be  undertaken.  In  all  this  it  acted 
under  two  powerful  restraints,  partly  like  the 
theocracy  in  the  early  days  of  New  England, 
partly  like  our  constitutions  to-day,  —  namely, 
the  mos  majorum  and  the  auguries.  It  saw 
that  everything  was  done  in  the  Roman  or 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  97 

ancient  way,  and  that  the  unseen  forces  were 
likely  to  favor  it.1  Now,  how  did  this  system 
succeed  ?  On  this  point  I  cannot  do  better  than 
quote  the  testimony  of  Mommsen  :  — 

"  Nevertheless,  if  any  revolution  or  any  usur- 
pation appears  justified  before  the  bar  of  history 
by  exclusive  ability  to  govern,  even  its  rigorous 
judgment  must  acknowledge  that  this  corpora- 
tion duly  comprehended  and  worthily  fulfilled 
its  great  task.  Called  to  power,  not  by  the 
empty  accident  of  birth,  but  substantially  by  the 
free  choice  of  the  nation  ;  confirmed  every  fifth 
year  by  the  stern  moral  judgment  of  the  wor- 
thiest men ;  holding  office  for  life,  and  so  not 
dependent  on  the  expiration  of  its  commission  or 
on  the  varying  opinion  of  the  people ;  having  its 
ranks  close  and  united  even  after  the  equaliza- 
tion of  its  orders ;  embracing  in  it  all  the  politi- 
cal intelligence  and  practical  statesmanship  that 
the  people  possessed ;  absolute  in  dealing  with 
all  financial  questions  and  in  the  control  of  for- 
eign policy;  having  complete  power  over  the 
executive  by  virtue  of  its  brief  duration  and  of 
the  tribunitian  intercession  which  was  at  the  ser- 
vice of  the  Senate  after  the  termination  of  the 
quarrels  between  the  orders,  —  the  Roman  Sen- 
ate was  the  noblest  organ  of  the  nation,  and  in 
consistency  and  political  sagacity,  in  unanimity 

1  Willems'  Senat  et  Republique  Romaine,  pp.  34,  35. 


98  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

and  patriotism,  in  grasp  of  power  and  unwaver- 
ing courage,  the  foremost  political  corporation  of 
all  times ;  still  even  now  an  '  Assembly  of  Kings/ 
which  knew  well  how  to  combine  despotic  energy 
with  republican  self-devotion."  * 

As  I  have  said,  the  Senate  was  the  prototype 
of  all  modern  legislatures ;  but  only  two,  since 
the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  have  at  all  re- 
sembled it,  the  Venetian  Grand  Council  and  the 
British  Parliament.  No  others  in  the  modern 
world  have  attempted  to  discharge  so  great  a 
variety  of  duties,  such  as  holding  large  extents 
of  conquered  territory  and  ruling  great  bodies  of 
subject  population,  or  carrying  on  foreign  wars. 
Its  chief  distinction  was  that,  as  a  rule,  subjects 
for  consideration,  on  which  it  had  to  take  posi- 
tive action,  did  not  originate  with  it,  but  were 
brought  before  it  by  the  executive  officers  en- 
gaged in  the  active  conduct  of  the  government. 
So  that  it  may  be  called  a  consultative  rather 
than  a  legislative  body.  How  this  came  about 
and  how  it  continued,  it  is  not  necessary  to  dis- 
cuss here.  The  general  result  was  that,  through 
the  whole  course  of  Roman  history,  the  admin- 
istrative officers  remained  actually  in  charge  of 
the  government,  subject  to  the  advice  and  con- 
trol of  the  legislature.  The  same  system  has 
prevailed  in  the  British  Parliament  ever  since  it 

1  History  of  Rome,  vol.  i.  pp.  410-412. 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  99 

became  a  real  power  in  the  state.  Its  proceed- 
ings are  controlled  and  regulated  by  the  execu- 
tive officers.  They  submit  measures  to  it,  and 
ask  its  advice  and  consent ;  but  if  they  cannot 
carry  them,  the  matter  drops  and  they  resign, 
and  others  undertake  the  task.  Practically,  a 
private  member  cannot  originate  a  bill,  or  get  it 
discussed,  or  procure  its  passage,  except  with 
their  consent.  Indeed,  as  a  legislator  he  is  al- 
ways in  a  certain  sense  an  intruder.  The  func- 
tion of  the  two  Houses  is  essentially,  not  the 
drafting  or  proposing  of  laws,  but  seeing  that 
no  law  is  passed  which  is  not  expedient  and 
"  constitutional ; "  "  constitutional "  being,  in  the 
British  sense,  what  the  Romans  meant  by  being 
in  accordance  with  the  mos  majorum  and  having 
the  approval  of  the  auguries.  The  British  min- 
istry, in  fact,  legislates  as  well  as  administers. 
Every  bill  is  fathered  by  the  man  who  is  en- 
gaged in  the  active  work  of  the  department 
which  it  touches.  If  it  relate  to  +he  finances, 
it  is  framed  and  introduced  by  the  L-nancellor  of 
the  Exchequer ;  if  it  relate  to  shipping,  by  the 
President  of  the  Board  of  Trade ;  if  to  the 
army,  by  the  Secretary  of  War,  and  so  on.  Any 
private  member  who  should  attempt  to  regu- 
late these  things  would  be  frowned  down  and 
silenced.  His  business  is  to  hear  what  the  min- 
istry proposes,  and  to  pass  judgment  on  it. 


100  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

The  reason  why  the  English  have  been  able  to 
preserve  what  is  called  the  "  cabinet  system  "  in 
their  proceedings  —  that  is,  the  dominance  of 
the  executive  officers  in  the  deliberation  of  Par- 
liament —  is,  I  need  hardly  say,  historical.  Par- 
liaments may  be  said  to  have  originated  as  a 
check  on  the  royal  authority.  In  the  House  of 
Commons  government  was  represented  by  the 
king.  The  ministry  was  emphatically  his  minis- 
try ;  the  opposition  was  held  together  partly  by 
fear,  and  partly  by  dislike  of  him.  It  never 
reached  the  point  of  seeking  to  take  the  admin- 
istration of  the  government  out  of  his  hands  or 
out  of  those  of  his  officers,  except  in  the  rebel- 
lion of  1640.  Its  highest  ambition  was  to  be 
consulted  about  what  was  going  to  be  done,  and 
to  be  allowed  to  ask  questions  about  it  and  to 
vote  the  money  for  it.  It  never  thought  of 
taking  on  itself  the  function  of  administration. 
It  confined  itself  to  the  exercise  of  a  veto.  The 
ministry  never  parted  with  its  power  of  initia- 
tion, and  it  strengthened  its  position  by  what 
may  be  called  the  solidarity  of  the  cabinet ;  that 
is,  the  practice  of  treating  each  act  of  any  par- 
ticular minister  as  the  act  of  the  whole  body, 
and  standing  or  falling  by  it  as  such.  The  occa- 
sions have  been  rare,  in  English  history,  in 
which  any  one  member  has  been  surrendered  to 
the  dissatisfaction  or  reprobation  of  the  oppo- 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  101 

sition.  When  Puritan  and  Cavalier  were  suc- 
ceeded by  Whig  and  Tory,  or  Whig  and  Tory 
by  Conservative  and  Liberal,  the  new  order 
merely  substituted  one  executive  for  another  in 
the  House  of  Commons,  and  did  not  create  a 
new  kind  of  executive.  No  matter  what  the 
relative  strength  of  parties  in  the  country  might 
be,  the  dominant  party  appeared  in  the  House  of 
Commons  simply  as  administrative  officers,  seek- 
ing and  taking  advice  and  approval  from  the 
representative  body. 

Now,  the  value  of  the  preservation  of  the 
consultative  rather  than  the  legislative  function 
by  the  House  of  Commons,  the  auctoritas  and 
consilium  rather  than  the  initiative,  has  been 
brought  out  more  clearly  than  ever  by  the  his- 
tory of  legislative  bodies  on  the  Continent  since 
the  revival  of  popular  government  in  1848,  and 
by  the  history  of  legislatures  in  this  country 
since  the  war.  The  English  House  of  Com- 
mons, one  may  say,  has  grown  up  under  the 
consultative  system.  No  other  system  has  ever 
been  seen  or  thought  of.  Private  members  have 
learnt  to  sit  and  listen,  to  have  their  opinions 
asked  for  on  certain  proposals,  and,  if  their 
advice  is  not  taken,  to  seek  their  remedy  in 
choosing  other  agents.  They  act  on  all  propo- 
sals submitted  by  the  ministry,  in  parties,  not 
singly.  The  experience  of  three  centuries  has 


102  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

taught  each  member  to  be  of  the  same  mind,  in 
every  case,  as  those  with  whom  he  ordinarily 
agrees  on  other  subjects.  When  the  House  of 
Commons  was  taken  as  a  model  on  the  Conti- 
nent, especially  after  1848,  what  was  set  up  was 
not  really  the  English  Parliament,  but  a  set  of 
councils  for  discussion,  in  which  every  man  had 
the  right  of  initiative,  or,  at  all  events,  the  right 
to  say  his  say  without  sharing  with  any  one  else 
the  responsibility  for  what  he  said.  The  new 
governments  all  had  ministries,  after  the  Eng- 
lish fashion,  but  no  one  in  the  legislature  felt 
bound  to  approve,  or  felt  bound  to  join  others 
in  disapproving,  of  their  policy.  In  other 
words,  the  cabinet  system  did  not  take  root  in 
the  political  manners.  In  his  Journals,  during 
a  visit  to  Turin  in  1850,  Senior  records  a  con- 
versation with  Cesare  Balbo,  a  member  of  the 
Chamber  in  the  first  Piedmontese  Parliament,  in 
which  Balbo  said,  after  an  exciting  financial  de- 
bate :  "  We  have  not  yet  acquired  parliamentary 
discipline.  Most  of  the  members  are  more  anx- 
ious about  their  own  crotchets  or  their  own  con- 
sistency than  about  the  country.  The  ministry 
has  a  large  nominal  majority,  but  every  member 
of  it  is  ready  to  put  them  in  a  minority  for  any 
whim  of  his  own."  *  This  was  probably  true 
of  every  legislative  body  on  the  Continent,  and 

1  Senior's  Journals,  vol.  i.  p.  323. 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  103 

it  continues  true  to  this  day  in  Italy,  Greece, 
France,  Austria,  Germany,  and  the  new  Austra- 
lian democracies. 

Parliamentary  discipline  has  not  gained  in 
strength.  On  the  contrary,  the  tendency  to  give 
new  men  a  taste  of  parliamentary  life,  which  is 
very  strong  particularly  in  France  and  Italy,  has 
stimulated  the  disposition  to  form  "  groups,"  or 
to  act  independently.  A  man  who  is  likely  to 
serve  for  only  one  term  is  unwilling  to  sink  him- 
self either  in  the  ministerial  majority,  or  in  the 
opposition.  He  wishes  to  make  a  reputation  for 
himself,  and  this  he  cannot  do  by  voting  silently 
under  a  chief.  A  reputation  has  to  be  made  by 
openly  expressed  criticism,  or  by  open  hostility, 
or  by  the  individual  exercise  of  the  initiative. 
To  make  an  impression  on  his  constituents,  he 
has  to  have  a  programme  of  his  own  and  to 
push  it,  to  identify  himself  with  some  cause 
which  the  men  in  power  either  ignore,  or  treat 
too  coolly.  As  a  rule,  the  Continental  legisla- 
tures, while  modeled  on  the  British  or  cabinet 
system,  have  really  not  copied  its  most  important 
feature,  the  dominance  of  the  executive  in  the 
legislative  body.  In  Austria  and  Germany, 
where  the  king  or  emperor  is  still  a  power,  this 
is  not  so  apparent,  but  in  France  and  Italy  and 
in  Australia,  where  the  Parliament  is  well-nigh 
omnipotent,  the  result  is  incessant  changes  of 


104  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

ministry,  and  a  great  deal  of  legislation,  in- 
tended not  so  much  to  benefit  the  country  as  to 
gather  up  and  hold  a  majority. 

In  America  we  have  never  tried  the  cabinet 
system,  partly  because  our  legislatures  were 
started  before  this  system  became  fairly  estab- 
lished in  England,  and  partly  because,  in  colo- 
nial times,  the  executive  was  never  in  thoroughly 
friendly  relations  with  the  legislative  department 
of  any  colony.  Americans  entered  on  their  na- 
tional existence  with  the  only  sort  of  legislature 
that  was  then  known,  a  council  of  equals,  where 
one  man  had  as  much  right  to  originate  legisla- 
tion as  another,  subject,  of  course,  to  the  gen- 
eral policy  of  the  party  to  which  he  belonged. 
The  device  with  which  we  have  striven  to  meet 
the  confusion  thus  created,  is  the  formation  of 
committees  to  examine  and  report  upon  every 
project  of  law  submitted  by  individual  members. 
Every  legislature,  including  Congress,  is  now 
divided  into  these  committees.  With  the  execu- 
tive it  has  no  open  or  official  relations,  for  pur- 
poses of  discussion.  No  administrative  officer 
is  entitled  of  right  to  address,  or  advise,  or  con- 
sult it.  He  is  exposed  to  constant  criticism,  but 
he  cannot  explain  or  answer.  His  presence, 
even,  in  the  legislative  chambers  is  an  intrusion. 
He  can  communicate  in  writing  any  information 
which  the  legislature  demands,  but  this  is  the 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  105 

limit  of  his  relations  with  it.  The  President 
and  every  Governor  of  a  state  have  the  right  to 
send  what  we  call  "  messages  "  to  the  legisla- 
ture, directing  its  attention  to  certain  matters 
and  recommending  certain  action,  but  it  is  very 
rare  for  these  recommendations  to  have  much 
effect.  The  messages  are  rhetorical  perform- 
ances, intended  to  give  the  public  an  idea  of 
the  capacity  and  opinions  of  the  writers  rather 
than  to  furnish  a  foundation  for  law-making. 

There  is  nothing  more  striking  in  our  system 
than  the  perfunctoriness  which  has  overtaken 
both  these  documents  and  the  party  platforms, 
and  there  can  be  no  better  illustration  of  the 
effect  of  the  absence  of  the  executive  from  the 
legislative  chambers.  If  there  were  a  ministry, 
or  if  there  were  members  of  a  cabinet  sitting  in 
the  chambers  and  charged  with  the  initiation  of 
legislation,  they  would  naturally  be  charged  also 
with  the  duty  of  carrying  out  the  President's  or 
the  Governor's  recommendations,  and  embodying 
the  party  platform  in  laws.  But  under  the  com- 
mittee system  nobody  is  burdened  with  this  duty, 
and  after  the  messages  and  platforms  have  been 
printed,  they  do  not  often  receive  any  further 
attention.  Few  can  remember  what  a  party  plat- 
form contains,  a  month  after  its  adoption,  and  it 
is  very  seldom  that  any  legislative  notice  is  taken 
of  it,  except  by  the  opposition  press,  which  occar 


106  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

sionally  uses  it  to  twit  the  party  in  power  with 
its  inconsistency  or  negligence.  In  fact,  legisla- 
tion, both  in  Congress  and  in  the  state  legisla- 
tures, may  be  said  to  have  become  government  by 
committee.  The  individual  member  has  hardly 
more  to  do  with  it  than  he  has  in  England.  Yet 
this  does  not  prevent  his  making  attempts  to 
legislate.  He  does  not  ask  permission  to  intro- 
duce bills,  but  he  introduces  them  by  thousands 
every  session.  His  right  to  legislate  is  recog- 
nized as  good  and  valid,  but  the  rules  which 
regulate  the  course  of  his  bill  through  the  House 
make  the  right  of  little  more  value  than  that  of 
the  private  member  of  the  House  of  Commons. 
His  bill,  as  soon  as  it  is  presented,  passes  into 
the  custody  of  one  of  the  committees.  He  is  not 
allowed  to  say  a  word  in  its  behalf,  and  he  has 
no  knowledge  of  what  its  fate  will  be.  He  is 
literally  cut  off  from  debate,  no  less  by  the  rules 
than  by  the  Speaker's  favor.  This  functionary, 
by  simply  refusing  to  see  him,  can  condemn  him 
to  perpetual  silence,  and  has  no  hesitation  in 
exercising  his  power  to  advance  or  retard  such 
business  of  the  House  as  he  approves  or  dislikes. 
But  there  is  this  difference  between  the  posi- 
tion of  the  English  and  that  of  the  American 
member.  In  England,  the  persons  who  take 
his  bill  out  of  his  hands,  or  refuse  him  permis- 
sion to  introduce  it,  are  themselves  engaged  in 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  107 

the  work  of  legislation.  They  are  responsible 
for  the  conduct  of  the  government.  They  pro- 
fess to  be  supplying  all  the  legislation  that  is 
necessary.  They  simply  deny  the  private  mem- 
ber any  participation  in  their  work.  In  America, 
the  committee  which  takes  his  bill  from  him  and 
seals  its  fate  is  composed  of  his  own  equals. 
They  have  no  more  to  do  with  the  executive  than 
he  has.  They  are  no  more  charged  with  legis- 
lation on  any  particular  subject  than  he  is.  Their 
main  function  is  to  examine  and  "  report,"  but 
whether  they  will  ever  report  is  a  matter  entirely 
within  their  discretion.  They  are  not  bound  to 
substitute  anything  for  what  they  reject  or 
ignore.  They  have  so  much  to  pass  upon,  that 
their  duty  of  initiation  is  reduced  to  a  minimum. 
Moreover,  when  they  report  favorably  on  any 
bill  in  their  custody,  or  originate  one  of  their 
own,  they  are  not  bound  to  allow  full  discussion 
of  it  in  the  open  House.  All  needful  discussion 
of  it  is  supposed  to  have  taken  place  in  their 
chamber.  If  any  one  is  allowed  to  say  much 
about  it  in  the  House,  it  is  rather  as  a  matter  of 
grace ;  and  unless  he  is  an  orator  of  reputation, 
but  few  listen  to  him.  Consequently,  there  is  in 
practice  a  wide  difference  between  the  control  of 
legislation  in  the  British  Parliament,  and  the 
control  in  our  Congress.  With  us  it  is  exercised 
by  an  entirely  different  class  of  persons,  who  are 


108  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

not  accountable  for  the  fate  of  any  bill.  If  they 
choose  not  to  report  it,  they  are  not  bound  to 
give  their  reasons.  The  function  of  the  British 
ministry  is  to  provide  the  necessary  legislation, 
and  as  a  rule,  the  ministry  is  composed  of  men 
well  known  to  the  public  and  of  more  than  usual 
experience.  The  function  of  the  American  com- 
mittee, on  the  other  hand,  is  simply  to  sift  or 
impede  the  efforts  of  a  large  assembly,  composed 
of  persons  of  equal  authority,  to  pass  laws,  with 
the  execution  of  which,  if  they  were  passed,  they 
would  have  nothing  to  do.  As  everybody  has 
a  right  to  introduce  bills,  without  being  in  any 
way  responsible  for  their  working,  there  must  be 
some  power  to  examine,  revise,  choose,  or  reject, 
and  this  need  is  supplied  by  the  committee  sys- 
tem.1 

The  great  change  in  the  position  and  powers 
of  the  Speaker  in  Congress  and  in  all  American 
legislatures  has  been  due  to  the  same  causes  as 
the  institution  of  the  committees.  He  has  been 
changed  from  his  prototype,  the  judicial  officer 
who  presides  over  debates  in  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, into  something  like  the  European  prime 
minister,  so  that  he  has  charge  of  the  legislation 

1  The  working  of  this  system  and  the  actual  functions  of  the 
Speaker  are  well  described  in  Wilson's  Congressional  Govern- 
ment, and  in  Miss  Follett's  Speaker  of  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives. 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  109 

of  his  party.  He  appoints  the  various  commit- 
tees, and  can  in  this  way  make  himself  feared 
or  courted  by  members.  By  his  power  of  "  re- 
cognition "  he  can  consign  any  member  to  obscu- 
rity. He  can  encourage  or  hinder  a  committee 
in  any  species  of  legislation.  He  can  check  or 
promote  extravagance.  He  makes  no  pretension 
to  impartiality;  he  professes  simply  to  be  as  im- 
partial as  a  man  can  be  who  has  to  look  after 
the  interests  of  his  own  party  and  see  that  its 
"  policy  "  is  carried  out.  In  fact,  he  differs  but 
little  from  the  "  leader  "  of  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, except  that  he  has  nothing  to  do  with  the 
execution  of  the  laws  after  he  has  helped  to 
make  them.  He  may  have  to  hand  them  over 
to  a  hostile  Senate  or  to  a  hostile  executive,  after 
he  has  secured  their  passage  in  his  own  assembly, 
and  the  country  does  not  hold  him  responsible 
for  them.  No  matter  how  badly  they  may  work, 
the  blame  is  laid,  not  on  him,  but  on  "  the 
House "  or  on  the  party.  He  has  nothing  per- 
sonal to  fear  from  their  failure,  however  active 
he  may  have  been  in  securing  their  enactment. 
But  the  steady  acquiescence  in  his  increased 
assumption  of  power  in  every  session  of  Congress 
or  of  the  legislatures  is  clearly  an  admission  that 
modern  democratic  legislatures  need  leaders. 

There  are  two  committees  which  may  be  said 
to  be  charged  with  the  work  of  legislation,  and 


110  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

these  are  the  Committee  of  Ways  and  Means 
and  the  Committee  on  Appropriations.  But 
neither  of  them  supplies  what  may  be  called  a 
"  budget ; "  that  is,  a  statement  of  necessary  ex- 
penditure and  of  probable  revenue.  These  cal- 
culations are  made,  it  is  true,  in  the  various 
administrative  offices,  but  the  committees  are  not 
bound  to  take  notice  of  them.  The  Committee 
of  Ways  and  Means  fixes  the  revenue,  as  a  rule, 
mainly  with  regard  to  the  state  of  public  opinion 
touching  the  principal  source  of  revenue,  the 
taxes  on  imports.  If  the  public  is  deemed  to  be 
at  that  moment  favorable  to  protection,  these 
taxes  are  put  high;  if  favorable  to  free  trade, 
they  are  put  low.  The  relation  to  the  public 
outlay  is  not  made  the  chief  consideration.  In 
other  words,  "  taxation  for  revenue  only  "  is  not 
an  art  practiced  by  either  party.  Taxation  is 
avowedly  practiced  as  the  art  of  encouraging 
domestic  industry  in  some  degree.  The  Com- 
mittee on  Appropriations  has  no  relations  with 
the  Ways  and  Means  Committee.  It  does  not 
concern  itself  about  income.  It  adds  to  the 
necessary  expenditure  of  the  government  such 
further  expenditure  as  is  likely  to  be  popular,  as 
that  for  river  and  harbor  improvements  and  for 
pensions.  In  this  way,  neither  committee  is  re- 
sponsible for  a  deficit,  for  neither  is  bound  to 
make  ends  meets. 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  111 

This  absence  of  connection  between  the  levy- 
ing and  the  spending  authorities  would  work 
speedy  ruin  in  any  European  government.  The 
danger  or  inconvenience  of  it  here  has  been  con- 
cealed by  the  very  rapid  growth  of  the  country 
in  wealth  and  population,  and  the  resulting  rapid 
increase  of  the  revenue  under  all  circumstances. 
It  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  the  first  serious 
deficiency  of  revenue  was  experienced  on  the 
outbreak  of  the  civil  war.  After  the  war,  there 
was  no  difficulty  in  meeting  all  reasonable  ex- 
penses, until  the  yearly  recurring  and  increasing 
surplus  bred  a  frame  of  mind  about  expenditure 
which  led  to  enormous  appropriations  for  pen- 
sions and  domestic  improvements.  These  have 
at  last  brought  about,  and  for  the  first  time  in 
American  history,  a  real  difficulty  in  devising 
sources  of  revenue.  At  this  writing  the  ques- 
tion under  debate  is  what  taxes  will  be  most 
popular  in  the  country,  when  it  ought  to  be 
what  taxes  will  bring  in  most  income.  This  has 
been  largely  due  to  the  appropriations  for  pur- 
poses not  absolutely  necessary,  but  the  Commit- 
tee of  Ways  and  Means  is  compelled  to  treat 
them  as  if  they  were  legitimate  expenses.  This 
separation  between  the  power  which  lays  taxes 
and  the  power  which  spends  them  is  probably 
the  boldest  of  our  experiments,  and  one  which 
has  never  before  been  tried.  Its  inconveniences 


112  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

are  likely  to  be  felt  increasingly,  as  the  habits 
bred  by  easy  circumstances  become  more  fixed. 

The  tendency  to  lavish  expenditure  has  been 
stimulated,  too,  by  the  temptation  of  the  protec- 
tive system  to  make  a  large  revenue  collected 
from  duties  on  imports  seem  necessary.  All 
governments  are  prone  to  make  taxation  serve 
some  other  purpose  than  to  raise  revenue  ;  that 
is,  to  foster  or  maintain  some  sort  of  polity.  It 
was  used  for  ages  to  promote  inequality;  now 
it  is  frequently  used  to  promote  certain  special 
interests.  In  England,  the  import  duties  on 
corn  were  meant  to  benefit  the  landed  interest 
and  foster  large  estates.  In  America,  the  duties 
on  imports  are  meant  to  benefit  native  manufac- 
tures indirectly ;  but  by  showing  that  they  are 
also  essential  to  the  government,  a  great  deal  of 
the  opposition  to  them  as  a  benefit  to  the  manu- 
facturers is  disarmed.  In  no  way  can  the  needs 
of  the  government  be  made  so  conspicuous  as  by 
keeping  the  treasury  empty.  Since  protection 
for  industry  was,  after  the  war,  incorporated  in 
the  fiscal  system  of  the  government,  therefore 
it  has  begotten  extravagance  almost  as  an  in- 
evitable accompaniment.  The  less  money  there 
is  on  hand,  the  higher  does  it  seem  that  duties 
ought  to  be ;  and  the  way  to  keep  little  on  hand 
is  to  spend  freely. 

The  difficulty  of  getting  rid  of  the  protective 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  113 

system,  in  any  modern  country,  is  to  be  found 
in  part  in  the  growth  of  democracy.  To  the 
natural  man,  protection  for  his  products  against 
competition  is  one  of  the  primary  duties  of  gov- 
ernment. Every  citizen  or  mechanic  would  fain 
keep  the  neighboring  market  to  himself,  if  he 
could.  The  shoemaker  wishes  to  make  all  the 
shoes  of  his  village,  the  carpenter  to  do  all  the 
carpentering.  In  fact,  protection  is  the  eco- 
nomical creed  which  the  "  uninstructed  political 
economist "  always  lays  hold  of  first.  Its  bene- 
fits seem  clearest,  and  its  operation  in  his  own 
interest  is  most  visible  and  direct.  This  un- 
doubtedly goes  far  to  account  for  the  failure  of 
the  free-trade  theory  to  make  more  way  in  the 
world  since  the  days  of  its  early  apostles.  The 
arguments  by  which  it  is  supported  are  a  little 
too  abstract  and  complex  for  the  popular  mind. 
The  consequence  is  that  a  distinct  revival  of  pro- 
tectionism has  accompanied  the  spread  of  popu- 
lar government  in  Europe  and  Australia,  as  well 
as  in  this  country.  The  use  of  the  government 
to  keep  the  market  for  his  products,  and  the 
theory  that  the  market  is  a  privilege  for  the 
seller  which  he  ought  not  to  be  expected  to 
share  with  an  alien,  will  long  meet  with  ready 
acceptance  from  the  workingman.  Whatever  be 
its  industrial  or  economical  merits  or  demerits, 
its  effect  politically,  in  stimulating  expenditure 


114  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

in  the  United  States,  has  been  plain ;  and  as 
long  as  taxpayers  respond  so  readily  to  pecuni- 
ary demands  on  them  as  they  have  always  hith- 
erto done,  close  calculation  of  outgoings  and 
incomings  will  not  be  easy  to  bring  about.  At 
present,  the  "  elasticity  "  of  our  revenue,  owing 
to  the  rapid  increase  of  our  population  and  the 
magnitude  of  our  undeveloped  resources,  is  one 
of  the  great  wonders  of  European  financiers,  and 
renders  the  education  of  financial  experts  diffi- 
cult. Any  source  of  taxation  which  even  the 
most  inexperienced  of  our  economists  reaches,  is 
apt  to  pour  forth  results  so  abundantly  as  to 
make  the  caution,  the  anxiety,  and  the  nice 
adjustments  on  which  the  financial  system  of 
the  Old  World  is  based,  appear  unnecessary  or 
even  ridiculous. 

But  the  most  serious  defect  in  the  committee 
system,  and  the  one  that  is  hardest  to  remedy,  is 
the  stopper  it  puts  on  debate.  The  objection  is 
often  made,  and  with  a  show  of  reason,  to  the 
cabinet  system,  and  its  practice  of  deciding 
things  only  after  open  discussion,  that  it  un- 
duly stimulates  mere  talk,  and  postpones  actual 
business  for  the  purpose  of  allowing  a  large 
number  of  persons  to  produce  arguments  which 
are  found  not  to  be  worth  listening  to,  and 
which  have  no  real  influence  on  the  results. 
This  is  true,  in  particular,  of  all  countries  in 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  115 

which,  as  on  the  Continent,  an  attempt  has  been 
made  to  govern  assemblies  without  parliamentary 
discipline,  and  without  practice  in  acting  by  par- 
ties rather  than  singly  or  in  groups.  Various 
forms  of  "  closure  "  have  been  invented  in  order 
to  check  this  habit.  It  may  be  found  in  an 
extreme  degree  in  our  own  Senate,  which  has 
no  closure,  and  in  which  irrelevant  speeches  are 
inflicted  by  the  hour,  and  even  by  the  day,  on 
unwilling  listeners. 

But  our  demand  on  legislative  bodies  for 
"  business  "  has  carried  us  to  the  other  extreme, 
which  may  be  seen  in  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives. There  is  nothing,  after  all,  more  impor- 
tant to  the  modern  world  than  that  the  intelli- 
gence and  character  of  the  nation  should  find 
their  way  into  the  legislatures ;  and  for  this 
purpose  the  legislatures  should  be  made  some- 
thing more  than  scenes  of  obscurity,  hard  work, 
and  small  pay.  The  English  House  of  Commons 
owed  its  attractiveness  for  two  centuries,  in  spite 
of  the  non-payment  of  members,  to  the  fact  that 
it  was  "  the  pleasantest  club  in  Europe."  It  was 
also  a  place  in  which  any  member,  however  hum- 
ble his  beginnings,  had  a  chance  to  make  fame 
as  an  orator.  In  recent  days,  legislatures  in  all 
the  democratic  countries  have  been  made  repul- 
sive to  men  of  mark  by  the  pains  taken  "  to  get 
business  done"  and  to  keep  down  the  flood  of 


116  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

speech.  Everybody  who  enters  a  legislature  now 
for  the  first  time,  especially  if  he  is  a  man  of 
talent  and  character,  is  bitterly  disappointed  by 
finding  that  the  rules  take  from  him  nearly 
every  opportunity  of  distinction,  and,  in  addi- 
tion, condemn  him  to  a  great  deal  of  obscure 
drudgery.  It  is  only  by  the  rarest  chance  that 
he  finds  an  opening  to  speak,  and  his  work  on 
the  committees  never  shows  itself  to  the  public. 
It  consists  largely  in  passing  on  the  merits  of 
the  thousands  of  schemes  concocted  by  inexpe- 
rienced or  ignorant  men,  and  has  really  some 
resemblance  to  a  college  professor's  reading  of 
"  themes."  In  fact,  the  committee  room  may  be 
called  the  grave  of  honorable  ambition. 

We  find,  accordingly,  that  only  few  men  of 
real  capacity,  who  have  once  gone  to  the  legis- 
lature or  to  Congress,  are  willing  to  return  for  a 
second  term,  simply  because  they  find  the  work 
disagreeable  and  the  reward  inadequate ;  for  it 
is  one  of  the  commonplaces  of  politics  that,  in 
every  country,  the  number  of  able  men  who  will 
serve  the  public  without  either  pay  or  distinc- 
tion is  very  small.  Even  the  most  patriotic 
must  have  one  or  the  other;  and  to  set  up 
legislatures,  as  all  the  democratic  countries  have 
done,  in  which  no  one  can  look  for  either,  is  an 
experiment  fraught  with  danger.  If  I  am  not 
greatly  mistaken,  the  natural  result  is  beginning 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  117 

to  show  itself.  There  is  not  a  country  in  the 
world,  living  under  parliamentary  government, 
which  has  not  begun  to  complain  of  the  decline 
in  the  quality  of  its  legislators.  More  and  more, 
it  is  said,  the  work  of  government  is  falling 
into  the  hands  of  men  to  whom  even  small  pay 
is  important,  and  who  are  suspected  of  adding 
to  their  income  by  corruption.  The  withdrawal 
of  the  more  intelligent  class  from  legislative  du- 
ties is  more  and  more  lamented,  and  the  com- 
plaint is  somewhat  justified  by  the  mass  of  crude, 
hasty,  incoherent,  and  unnecessary  laws  which 
are  poured  on  the  world  at  every  session.  It  is 
increasingly  difficult  to-day  to  get  a  man  of 
serious  knowledge  on  any  subject  to  go  to  Con- 
gress, if  he  have  other  pursuits  and  other  sources 
of  income.  To  get  him  to  go  to  the  state  legis- 
lature, in  any  of  the  populous  and  busy  states,  is 
well-nigh  impossible.  If  he  has  tried  the  experi- 
ment once,  and  is  unwilling  to  repeat  it,  and 
you  ask  him  why,  he  will  answer  that  the  secret 
committee  work  was  repulsive ;  that  the  silence 
and  the  inability  to  accomplish  anything,  im- 
posed on  him  by  the  rules,  were  disheartening ; 
and  that  the  difficulty  of  communicating  with 
his  constituents,  or  with  the  nation  at  large, 
through  the  spoken  and  reported  word,  deprived 
him  of  all  prospects  of  being  rewarded  by  celeb- 
rity. 


118  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

It  is  into  the  vacancies  thus  left  that  the  boss 
steps  with  full  hands.  He  summons  from  every 
quarter  needy  young  men,  and  helps  them  to 
get  into  places  where  they  will  be  able  to  add  to 
their  pay  by  some  sort  of  corruption,  however 
disguised,  —  perhaps  rarely  direct  bribery,  but 
too  often  blackmail  or  a  share  in  jobs.  To  such 
it  is  not  necessary  that  the  legislature  should  be 
an  agreeable  place,  so  long  as  it  promises  a  live- 
lihood. This  system  is  already  working  actively 
in  some  states ;  it  is  spreading  to  others,  and  is 
most  perceptible  in  the  great  centres  of  affairs. 
It  is  an  abuse,  too,  which  in  a  measure  creates 
what  it  feeds  upon.  The  more  legislatures  are 
filled  with  bad  characters,  the  less  inducement 
there  is  for  men  of  a  superior  order  to  enter 
them ;  for  it  is  true  of  every  sort  of  public  ser- 
vice, from  the  army  up  to  the  cabinet,  that  men 
are  influenced  as  to  entering  it  by  the  kind  of 
company  they  will  have  to  keep.  The  statesman 
will  not  associate  with  the  Boy,  if  he  can  help  it, 
especially  in  a  work  in  which  conference  and 
persuasion  play  a  large  part. 

If  it  be  true  that  the  character  and  compe- 
tency of  legislators  are  declining,  the  evil  is  ren- 
dered all  the  more  serious  by  the  fact  that  the 
general  wealth  has  increased  enormously  within 
the  present  century.  Down  to  the  French  Revo- 
lution, and  we  might  almost  say  down  to  1848, 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  119 

the  western  world,  speaking  broadly,  was  ruled 
by  the  landholding  or  rich  class.  Its  wealth 
consisted  mainly  of  land,  and  the  owners  of  the 
land  carried  on  the  government.  In  commercial 
communities,  like  Genoa  or  Venice,  or  the  Hanse 
Towns,  the  governing  class  was  made  up  of 
merchants,  but  it  was  still  the  rich  class.  Within 
fifty  years  a  great  change  has  occurred.  The 
improvement  in  communication  has  brought  all 
the  land  of  the  world  into  the  great  markets, 
and  as  a  result  the  landowners  have  ceased  to  be 
the  wealthy,  and  the  democratic  movement  has 
taken  the  government  away  from  them.  From 
the  hands  of  the  wealthy,  the  power  has  passed 
or  is  passing  into  the  hands  of  men  to  whom  the 
salary  of  a  legislator  is  an  object  of  some  con- 
sequence, and  who  are  more  careful  to  keep  in 
touch  with  their  constituents  than  to  afford  ex- 
amples of  scientific  government,  even  if  they 
were  capable  of  it.  It  cannot  be  said,  in  the 
light  of  history,  that  the  new  men  are  giving 
communities  worse  government  than  they  used  to 
have,  but  government  in  their  hands  is  not  pro- 
gressing in  the  same  ratio  as  the  other  arts  of 
civilization,  while  the  complexity  of  the  interests 
to  be  dealt  with  is  steadily  increasing.  Science 
and  literature  are  making,  and  have  made,  much 
more  conspicuous  advances  than  the  manage- 
ment of  common  affairs.  Less  attention  is  given 


120  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

to  experience  than  formerly,  while  the  expecta- 
tion of  some  new  idea,  in  which  the  peculiarities 
of  human  nature  will  have  much  slighter  play,  is 
becoming  deeper  and  more  widespread. 

No  effect  of  this  passage  of  legislative  work 
into  less  instructed  hands  is  more  curious  than 
the  great  stimulus  it  has  given  to  legislation 
itself.  Legislators  now,  apparently,  would  fain 
have  the  field  of  legislation  as  wide  as  it  was  in 
the  Middle  Ages.  The  schemes  for  the  regula- 
tion of  life  by  law,  which  are  daily  submitted  to 
the  committees  by  aspiring  reformers,  are  innu- 
merable. One  legislator  in  Kansas  was  seeking 
in  the  winter  of  1896  to  procure  the  enactment 
of  the  Ten  Commandments.  In  Nebraska,  an- 
other has  sought  to  legislate  against  the  wearing 
of  corsets  by  women.  Constant  efforts  are  made 
to  limit  the  prices  of  things,  to  impose  fresh 
duties  on  common  carriers,  to  restrain  the  growth 
of  wealth,  to  promote  patriotic  feeling  by  greater 
use  of  symbols,  or  in  some  manner  to  improve 
public  morals  by  artificial  restraints.  There  is 
no  legislature  in  America  which  does  not  con- 
tain members  anxious  to  right  some  kind  of 
wrong,  or  afford  some  sort  of  aid  to  human 
character,  by  a  bill.  Sometimes  the  bill  is  intro- 
duced to  oblige  a  constituent,  in  full  confidence 
that  it  will  never  leave  the  committee  room ;  at 
others,  to  rectify  some  abuse  which  happens  to 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  121 

have  come  under  the  legislator's  eye.  Some- 
times, again,  the  greater  activity  of  one  member 
drives  into  legislation  another  who  had  previ- 
ously looked  forward  to  a  silent  session.  Then 
it  has  to  be  borne  in  mind  that,  under  the  com- 
mittee system,  which  has  been  faithfully  copied 
from  Congress  in  all  the  legislatures,  the  only 
way  in  which  a  member  can  make  his  constit- 
uents aware  that  he  is  trying  to  earn  his  salary,  is 
by  introducing  bills.  It  does  not  much  matter 
that  they  are  not  finished  pieces  of  legislation, 
or  that  there  is  but  little  chance  of  their  passage. 
Their  main  object  is  to  convince  the  district  that 
its  representative  is  awake  and  active,  and  has  an 
eye  to  its  interests.  The  practice  of  "  log-roll- 
ing," too,  has  become  a  fixed  feature  in  the  pro- 
cedure of  nearly  all  the  legislatures ;  that  is,  of 
making  one  member's  support  of  another  mem- 
ber's bill  conditional  on  his  receiving  the  other 
member's  support  for  his  own.  In  the  attempted 
revolt  against  the  boss,  during  the  recent  sena- 
torial election  in  New  York,  a  good  many  mem- 
bers who  avowed  their  sense  of  Platt's  unfitness 
for  the  Senate  acknowledged  that  they  could 
not  vote  against  him  openly,  because  this  would 
cause  the  defeat  of  local  measures  in  which  they 
were  interested.  This  recalls  the  fact  that  many 
even  of  the  best  men  go  to  the  legislature  for 
one  or  two  terms,  not  so  much  to  serve  the 


122  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

public  as  to  secure  the  passage  of  bills  in  which 
they,  or  the  voters  of  their  district,  have  a  spe- 
cial concern.  Their  anxiety  about  these  makes 
their  subserviency  to  the  majority  complete,  on 
larger  questions,  however  it  is  controlled.  You 
vote  for  an  obviously  unfit  man  for  Senator,  for 
instance,  because  you  cannot  risk  the  success 
of  a  bill  for  putting  up  a  building,  or  erecting 
a  bridge,  or  opening  a  new  street,  in  your  own 
town.  You  must  give  and  take.  These  men 
are  reinforced  by  a  large  number  by  whom  the 
service  is  rendered  for  simple  livelihood.  The 
spoils  doctrine  —  that  public  office  is  a  prize,  or 
a  "plum,"  rather  than  a  public  trust  —  has 
effected  a  considerable  lodgment  in  legislation. 
Not  all  receive  their  places  as  the  Massachusetts 
farmer  received  his  membership  in  the  legisla- 
ture, a  few  years  ago,  because  he  had  lost  some 
cows  by  lightning,  but  a  formidable  number  — 
young  lawyers,  farmers  carrying  heavy  mort- 
gages, men  without  regular  occupation  and  tem- 
porarily out  of  a  job  —  find  service  in  the  legis- 
lature, even  for  one  term,  an  attractive  mode  of 
tiding  over  the  winter. 

The  mass  of  legislation  or  attempts  at  legisla- 
tion due  to  this  state  of  affairs  is  something 
startling.  I  have  been  unable  to  obtain  records 
of  the  acts  and  resolutions  of  all  the  States  for 
the  same  year.  I  am  obliged  to  take  those  of 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  123 

Arkansas  for  the  year  1893,  four  other  states 
for  1894,  ten  for  1896,  and  the  rest  for  1895. 
But  I  have  taken  only  one  year  for  each  state. 
The  total  of  such  acts  and  resolutions  is  15,730, 
and  this  is  for  a  population  of  70,000,000.  In 
addition,  Congress  in  1895-96  passed  457  acts 
and  resolutions.  But  the  amount  of  work 
turned  out  is  really  not  very  surprising,  when 
we  consider  the  number  of  the  legislators.  There 
are  no  less  than  447  national  legislators  and 
6578  state  legislators,  —  in  all  7025,  exclusive 
of  county,  city,  and  all  other  local  authorities 
capable  of  passing  rules  or  ordinances.  At  this 
ratio  of  legislators  to  population,  4000  at  least 
would  be  engaged  on  the  laws  of  Great  Britain, 
without  any  provision  for  India  and  the  colonies, 
3800  on  those  of  France,  about  5000  on  those 
of  Germany,  and  3000  on  those  of  Italy.  It 
will  be  easily  seen  what  a  draft  this  is  on  the 
small  amount  of  legislative  capacity  which  every 
community  contains.  There  is  no  country  which 
has  yet  shown  itself  capable  of  producing  more 
than  one  small  first-class  legislative  assembly.  We 
undertake  to  keep  going  forty-five  for  the  states 
alone,  besides  those  for  territories.  All  these 
assemblies,  too,  have  to  do  with  interests  of  the 
highest  order.  As  a  general  rule,  in  all  govern- 
ments, the  chief  legislative  body  only  is  intrusted 
with  the  highest  functions.  Its  jurisdiction 


124  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

covers  the  weightiest  interests  of  the  people  who 
live  under  it.  The  protection  of  life  and  pro- 
perty, the  administration  of  civil  and  criminal 
justice,  and  the  imposition  of  the  taxes  most 
severely  felt,  are  among  its  duties.  All  minor 
bodies  exist  as  its  subordinates  or  agents,  and 
exercise  only  such  powers  as  it  is  pleased  to  dele- 
gate to  them.  This  draws  to  the  superior  as- 
sembly, as  a  matter  of  course,  the  leading  men 
of  the  country,  and  by  far  the  larger  share  of 
popular  attention. 

In  the  formation  of  our  federal  Constitution, 
this  division,  based  on  relative  importance  to  the 
community,  was  not  possible.  The  states  sur- 
rendered as  little  as  they  could.  The  federal 
government  took  what  it  could  get,  and  only 
what  seemed  absolutely  necessary  to  the  creation 
of  a  nation.  The  consequence  is  that,  though 
Congress  appears  to  be  the  superior  body,  it  is 
not  really  so.  It  is  more  conspicuous,  and,  if  I 
may  use  the  word,  more  picturesque,  but  it  does 
not  deal  with  a  larger  number  of  serious  public 
interests.  The  states  have  reserved  to  them- 
selves the  things  which  most  concern  a  man's 
comfort  and  security  as  a  citizen.  The  protec- 
tion of  his  property,  the  administration  of  civil 
and  criminal  justice,  the  interpretation  of  con- 
tracts and  wills,  and  the  creation  and  regulation 
of  municipalities,  are  all  within  their  jurisdic- 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  125 

tion.  Most  of  the  inhabitants  pass  their  lives 
without  once  coming  into  contact  with  federal 
authority.  As  a  result,  an  election  to  Congress 
is  only  seeming  political  promotion.  It  gives 
the  candidate  more  dignity  and  importance,  but 
he  really  has  less  to  do  with  the  every-day  hap- 
piness of  his  fellow  citizens  than  the  state  leg- 
islator. If  he  were  deprived  of  the  power  of 
raising  and  lowering  the  duties  on  foreign  im- 
ports and  of  bickering  with  foreign  powers,  his 
influence  on  the  daily  life  of  Americans  would 
be  comparatively  small.  When  he  goes  to 
Washington,  he  finds  himself  in  a  larger  and 
more  splendid  sphere,  but  charged  with  less  of 
important  governmental  work.  The  grave  polit- 
ical functions  of  the  country  are  discharged  in 
the  state  legislatures,  but  by  inferior  men.  In 
so  far  as  Congress  makes  a  draft  on  the  legis- 
lative capacity  of  the  nation,  it  makes  it  at  the 
expense  of  the  local  governments. 

For  this  anomaly  it  would  be  difficult  to  sug- 
gest a  remedy.  The  division  of  powers  between 
the  confederation  and  the  states,  though  not  a 
logical  one,  was  probably  the  only  possible  one 
at  the  time  it  was  made.  The  main  work  of  gov- 
ernment was  left  to  the  states,  but  the  field  at 
Washington  was  made  by  its  conspicuousness 
more  attractive  to  men  of  talent  and  energy  in 
politics;  so  that  it  may  be  said  that  we  give  an 


126  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

inordinate  share  of  our  parliamentary  ability  to 
affairs  which  concern  us  in  only  a  minor  degree. 
This,  however,  can  hardly  be  considered  as  the 
result  of  a  democratic  tendency.  The  federal 
arrangement  has  really  nothing  to  do  with  de- 
mocracy. It  was  made  as  the  only  practicable 
mode  of  bringing  several  communities  into 
peaceful  relations,  and  enabling  them  to  face  the 
world  as  a  nation,  though  it  might  as  readily 
have  been  the  work  of  aristocracies  as  of  de- 
mocracies ;  but  in  so  far  as  it  has  in  any  degree 
lowered  the  character  of  legislative  bodies,  de- 
mocracy has  been  made  and  will  be  made  to 
bear  the  blame. 

This  opinion  has  been  strengthened  by  the 
discredit  which  has  overtaken  two  very  promi- 
nent features  of  the  federal  arrangement,  —  the 
election  of  the  President  by  the  electoral  college 
and  the  election  of  Senators  by  the  state  legisla- 
tures. The  fact  is  that  the  complete  disuse  of 
their  electoral  functions  within  forty  years  after 
the  adoption  of  the  Constitution  was  one  of  the 
most  striking  illustrations  that  history  affords  of 
the  futility  of  political  prophecy.  Here  is  the 
judgment  on  this  feature  of  their  work  by  the 
f ramers  of  the  Constitution,  as  set  forth  in  "  The 
Federalist :  "  — 

"  As  the  select  assemblies  for  choosing  the 
President,  as  well  as  the  state  legislatures  who 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  127 

appoint  the  Senators,  will  in  general  be  composed 
of  the  most  enlightened  and  respectable  citizens, 
there  is  reason  to  presume  that  their  attention 
and  their  votes  will  be  directed  to  those  men 
only  who  have  become  the  most  distinguished  by 
their  abilities  and  virtue,  and  in  whom  the  peo- 
ple perceive  just  grounds  for  confidence.  The 
Constitution  manifests  very  particular  attention 
to  this  object.  By  excluding  men  under  thirty- 
five  from  the  first  office,  and  those  under  thirty 
from  the  second,  it  confines  the  electors  to  men 
of  whom  the  people  have  had  time  to  form  a 
judgment,  and  with  respect  to  whom  they  will 
not  be  liable  to  be  deceived  by  those  brilliant 
appearances  of  genius  and  patriotism  which,  like 
transient  meteors,  sometimes  mislead  as  well  as 
dazzle.  If  the  observation  be  well  founded,  that 
wise  kings  will  always  be  served  by  able  minis- 
ters, it  is  fair  to  argue  that  as  an  assembly  of 
select  electors  possess,  in  a  greater  degree  than 
kings,  the  means  of  extensive  and  accurate  in- 
formation relative  to  men  and  characters,  so  will 
their  appointments  bear  at  least  equal  marks  of 
discretion  and  discernment.  The  inference  is 
that  President  and  Senators  so  chosen  will  always 
be  of  the  number  of  those  who  best  understand 
our  national  interests,  whether  considered  in  re- 
lation to  the  several  states  or  to  foreign  nations, 
who  are  best  able  to  promote  those  interests,  and 


128  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

whose  reputation  for  integrity  inspires  and  mer- 
its confidence.  With  such  men  the  power  of 
making  treaties  may  be  safely  lodged." l 

And  here  is  the  opinion  of  the  earliest  and 
most  philosophic  of  our  foreign  observers,  M.  de 
Tocqueville :  — 

"  When  you  enter  the  House  of  Representa- 
tives at  Washington,  you  are  struck  with  the 
vulgar  aspect  of  this  great  assembly.  The  eye 
looks  often  in  vain  for  a  celebrated  man.  Nearly 
all  its  members  are  obscure  personages,  whose 
names  suggest  nothing  to  the  mind.  They  are 
for  the  most  part  village  lawyers,  dealers,  or  even 
men  belonging  to  the  lowest  classes.  In  a  coun- 
try in  which  education  is  almost  universal,  it  is 
said  there  are  representatives  of  the  people  who 
cannot  always  write  correctly.  Two  steps  away 
opens  the  hall  of  the  Senate,  whose  narrow  area 
incloses  a  large  part  of  the  celebrities  of  America. 
One  hardly  sees  there  a  single  man  who  does  not 
recall  the  idea  of  recent  fame.  They  are  eloquent 
advocates,  or  distinguished  generals,  or  able  ma- 
gistrates, or  well-known  statesmen.  Every  word 
uttered  in  this  great  assembly  would  do  honor 
to  the  greatest  parliamentary  debates  in  Europe. 

"  Whence  comes  this  strange  contrast  ?  Why 
does  the  elite  of  the  nation  find  itself  in  one  of 
these  halls  more  than  in  the  other  ?  Why  does 

*  The  Federalist,  No.  LXIII. 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  129 

the  first  assembly  unite  so  many  vulgar  elements, 
while  the  second  seems  to  have  a  monopoly  of 
talents  and  intelligence?  Both  emanate  from 
the  people,  and  both  are  the  product  of  universal 
suffrage,  and  no  voice,  until  now,  has  been  raised 
in  the  United  States  to  say  that  the  Senate  was 
the  enemy  of  popular  interests.  Whence  comes, 
then,  this  enormous  difference?  I  see  only  one 
fact  which  explains  it :  the  election  which  pro- 
duces the  House  of  Representatives  is  direct; 
that  which  produces  the  Senate  is  submitted  to 
two  degrees.  The  whole  of  the  citizens  elect  the 
legislature  of  each  state,  and  the  federal  Consti- 
tution, transforming  these  legislatures  in  their 
turn  into  electoral  bodies,  draws  from  them  the 
members  of  the  Senate.  The  Senators,  then, 
express,  although  indirectly,  the  result  of  the 
popular  vote ;  for  the  legislature,  which  names 
the  Senators,  is  not  an  aristocratic  or  privileged 
body,  which  derives  its  electoral  rights  from  it- 
self ;  it  depends  eventually  on  the  whole  of  the 
citizens.  It  is,  in  general,  elected  by  them  every 
year,  and  they  can  always  govern  its  decisions 
by  electing  new  members.  But  the  popular  will 
has  only  to  pass  through  this  chosen  assembly  to 
shape  itself  in  some  sort,  and  issue  from  it  in  a 
nobler  and  finer  form.  The  men  thus  elected 
represent,  then,  always  exactly  the  majority  of 
the  nation  which  governs ;  but  they  represent 


130  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

only  the  more  elevated  ideas  which  circulate 
among  them,  the  generous  instincts  which  ani- 
mate them,  and  not  the  small  passions  which 
often  agitate  them  and  the  vices  which  disgrace 
them.  It  is  easy  to  foresee  a  time  when  the 
American  Republic  will  be  forced  to  multiply 
the  two  degrees  in  their  electoral  system,  on  pain 
of  wrecking  themselves  miserably  on  the  shores 
of  democracy.  I  do  not  hesitate  to  avow  it.  I 
see  in  the  double  electoral  degree  the  only  means 
of  bringing  political  liberty  within  the  reach  of 
all  classes  of  the  people."  * 

It  is  more  than  half  a  century  since  the  elec- 
toral college,  thus  vaunted  by  its  inventors,  ex- 
erted any  influence  in  the  choice  of  the  President. 
An  attempt  on  the  part  of  one  of  its  members  to 
use  his  own  judgment  in  the  matter  would  be 
treated  as  an  act  of  the  basest  treachery.  It  has 
become  a  mere  voting  machine  in  the  hands  of 
the  party.  The  office  of  "  elector  "  has  become 
an  empty  honor,  accorded  to  such  respectable 
members  of  the  party  as  are  unfit  for,  or  do  not 
desire,  any  more  serious  place.  The  candidates 
for  the  presidency  are  now  chosen  by  a  far  larger 
body,  which  was  never  dreamed  of  by  the  makers 
of  the  Constitution,  rarely  bestows  any  thought 
on  fitness  as  compared  with  popularity,  and  sits 
in  the  presence  of  an  immense  crowd  which, 

1  De  la  Democratic  en  Amerique,  t.  ii.  p.  53. 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  131 

though  it  does  not  actually  take  part  in  its  pro- 
ceedings, seeks  to  influence  its  decisions  by  every 
species  of  noise  and  interruption.  In  fact,  all 
show  of  deliberation  has  been  abandoned  by  it. 
Its  action  is  settled  beforehand  by  a  small  body 
of  men  sitting  in  a  private  room.  The  choice  of 
the  delegates  is  prescribed,  and  may  be  finally 
made  under  the  influence  of  a  secretly  conducted 
intrigue,  of  a  "  deal,"  or  of  a  wild  outburst  of 
enthusiasm  known  as  a  "stampede."  A  greater 
departure  from  the  original  idea  of  the  electoral 
college  could  hardly  be  imagined  than  the  mod- 
ern nominating  convention. 

Much  the  same  phenomena  are  to  be  witnessed 
in  the  case  of  the  election  of  Senators  by  state 
legislatures.  The  machinery  on  which  Tocque- 
ville  relied  so  confidently,  the  use  of  which  he 
expected  to  see  spread,  has  completely  broken 
down.  The  legislators  have  not  continued  to  be 
the  kind  of  men  he  describes,  and  their  choice 
is  not  governed  by  the  motives  he  looked  for. 
There  is  no  longer  such  a  thing  as  deliberation 
by  the  legislatures,  over  the  selection  of  the 
Senators.  The  candidate  is  selected  by  others, 
who  do  not  sit  in  the  legislature  at  all,  and  they 
supply  the  considerations  which  are  to  procure 
him  his  election.  He  is  given  the  place  either 
on  account  of  his  past  electioneering  services  to 
the  party,  or  on  account  of  the  largeness  of  his 


132  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

contributions  to  its  funds.  The  part  he  will  play 
in  the  Senate  rarely  receives  any  attention.  The 
anticipations  of  the  framers  of  the  Constitution, 
as  set  forth  in  the  passage  from  "  The  Federalist" 
which  I  have  quoted,  have  been  in  no  way  ful- 
filled. The  members  of  the  legislature,  as  a 
general  rule,  when  acting  as  an  electoral  college, 
are  very  different  from  those  whom  the  fathers 
of  the  republic  looked  for.  In  fact,  the  break- 
down of  their  system  is  widespread,  and  appears 
to  have  exerted  such  a  deteriorating  influence  on 
the  character  of  the  Senate,  that  we  are  witness- 
ing the  beginnings  of  an  agitation  for  the  elec- 
tion of  Senators  by  the  popular  vote. 

ii 

Why  the  founders  and  Tocqueville  were  mis- 
taken about  the  double  election  as  a  check  is 
easily  explained.  The  founders  knew  little  or 
nothing  about  democracy  except  what  they  got 
from  Greek  and  Roman  history ;  Tocqueville 
saw  it  at  work  only  before  the  English  traditions 
had  lost  their  force.  Democracy  really  means  a 
profound  belief  in  the  wisdom  as  well  as  the 
power  of  the  majority,  not  on  certain  occa- 
sions, but  at  whatever  time  it  is  consulted.  All 
through  American  history  this  idea  has  had  to 
struggle  for  assertion  with  the  inherited  polit- 
ical habits  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  which  made 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  133 

certain  things  "  English  "  or  "  American  "  just  as 
to  the  Romans  certain  things  were  "  Roman," 
for  no  reason  that  could  be  easily  stated,  except 
that  they  were  practices  or  beliefs  of  long  stand- 
ing. In  England  these  habits  have  always  com- 
posed what  is  called  "  the  British  Constitution," 
and  in  America  they  have  made  certain  rights 
seem  immemorial  or  inalienable,  such  as  the 
right  to  a  speedy  trial  by  jury,  the  right  to  com- 
pensation for  property  taken  for  public  use,  the 
right  to  the  decision  of  all  matters  in  contro- 
versy by  a  court.  This  vague  and  ill-defined 
creed  existed  before  any  constitution,  and  had 
to  be  embodied  in  every  constitution.  The  near- 
est approach  to  a  name  for  it,  in  both  countries, 
is  the  "  common  law,"  or  customs  of  the  race,  of 
which,  however,  since  it  formed  organized  civil- 
ized societies,  the  courts  of  justice  have  always 
been  the  fountains  or  exponents.  We  have  had 
to  ask  the  judges  in  any  given  case  what  the 
"  common  law  "  is,  there  being  no  written  state- 
ment of  it.  It  was  consequently  a  comparatively 
easy  matter,  in  America,  to  get  all  questions  in 
any  way  affecting  the  life,  liberty,  or  property 
of  individuals  put  into  a  fundamental  law,  to  be 
interpreted  by  the  courts.  Against  this  notion 
of  the  fitness  of  things,  democracy,  or  the  wis- 
dom of  the  majority,  has  beaten  its  head  in 
vain.  That  it  should  be  hindered  or  delayed  in 


134  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

carrying  out  its  will  by  a  written  instrument, 
expounded  and  applied  by  judges,  has,  therefore, 
always  seemed  natural. 

In  all  the  countries  of  Continental  Europe, 
at  the  beginning  of  this  century,  it  would  have 
appeared  a  scandal  or  an  anomaly  that  every- 
body should  be  liable  to  be  called  into  court,  no 
matter  what  office  he  held,  on  the  plaint  of  a 
private  man.  With  us  the  thing  has  always  been 
a  simple  and  inherent  part  of  our  system.  But 
in  the  matter  of  appointment  to  office,  which 
could  have  no  effect  upon  or  relation  to  private 
rights,  pure  democracy  has  never  shown  any  dis- 
position to  be  checked  or  gainsaid.  It  has  never 
shown  any  inclination  to  treat  public  officers, 
from  kings  down,  as  other  than  its  servants  or 
the  agents  of  its  will.  It  revolted  very  early 
against  Burke's  definition  of  its  representatives, 
as  statesmen  set  to  exercise  their  best  judgment 
in  watching  over  the  people's  interests.  The 
democratic  theory  of  the  representative  has  al- 
ways been  that  he  is  a  delegate  sent  to  vote,  not 
for  what  he  thinks  best,  but  for  what  his  con- 
stituents think  best,  even  if  it  controverts  his 
own  opinion.  The  opposition  to  this  view  has 
been  both  feeble  and  inconstant  ever  since  the 
early  years  of  the  century.  The  "  delegate " 
theory  has  been  gaining  ground  in  England, 
and  in  America  has  almost  completely  succeeded 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  135 

in  asserting  its  sway,  so  that  we  have  seen  many 
cases  recently,  in  which  members  of  Congress 
have  openly  declared  their  dissent  from  the  mea- 
sure for  which  they  voted  in  obedience  to  their 
constituents. 

It  was  this  determination  not  to  be  checked 
in  the  selection  of  officers,  but  to  make  the  peo- 
ple's will  act  directly  on  all  nominations,  which 
led  to  the  early  repudiation  of  the  electoral  col- 
lege. That  college  was  the  device  of  those  who 
doubted  the  wisdom  and  knowledge  of  the  ma- 
jority. But  the  majority  was  determined  that 
in  no  matter  within  its  jurisdiction  should  its 
wisdom  and  knowledge  be  questioned.  It  re- 
fused to  admit  that  if  it  was  competent  to  choose 
electors  and  members  of  Congress,  it  was  not 
competent  to  choose  the  President.  It  accord- 
ingly set  the  electoral  college  ruthlessly  aside  at  a 
very  early  period  in  the  history  of  the  republic. 
Tocqueville's  idea  that,  in  recognition  of  its  own 
weakness  and  incompetence,  it  would  spread  the 
system  of  committing  the  appointing  power  to 
small  select  bodies  of  its  own  people,  shows  how 
far  he  was  from  comprehending  the  new  force 
which  had  come  into  the  world,  and  which  he 
was  endeavoring  to  analyze  through  observation 
of  its  working  in  American  institutions. 

It  may  seem  at  first  sight  as  if  this  explana- 
tion does  not  apply  to  the  failures  of  the  legis- 


136  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

latures  to  act  upon  their  own  judgment  in  the 
election  of  Senators.  But  the  election  of  Sena- 
tors has  run  exactly  the  same  course  as  the 
nomination  of  Presidents;  the  choice  has  been 
taken  out  of  the  hands  of  the  legislatures  by 
the  political  party,  and  in  each  political  party  the 
people  are  represented  by  its  managers,  or  "  the 
machine,"  as  it  is  called.  They  insist  on  nomi- 
nating, or,  if  in  a  majority,  on  electing  the  Sen- 
ators, just  as  they  insist  on  nominating,  or,  if  in 
a  majority,  on  electing  the  President.  Nearly 
every  legislator  is  elected  now  with  a  view  to 
the  subsequent  election  -  of  the  Senators  when- 
ever there  is  a  vacancy.  His  choice  is  settled 
for  him  beforehand.  The  casting  of  his  vote  is 
a  mere  formality,  like  the  vote  of  the  presiden- 
tial electors.  The  man  he  selects  for  the  place 
is  the  man  already  selected  by  the  party.  With 
this  man's  goodness  or  badness,  fitness  or  unfit- 
ness,  he  does  not  consider  that  he  has  anything 
to  do.  Nothing  can  less  resemble  the  legisla- 
ture which  filled  the  imagination  of  the  framers 
of  the  Constitution  than  a  legislature  of  our  time 
assembled  in  joint  convention  to  elect  a  Senator. 
It  has  hardly  one  of  the  characteristics  which 
the  writers  of  "  The  Federalist "  ascribed  to  their 
ideal ;  it  is  little  affected  by  any  of  the  consid- 
erations which  these  gentlemen  supposed  would 
be  predominant  with  it. 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  137 

Any  change,  to  be  effective,  must  be  a  change 
in  the  mode  of  nomination.  All  attempts  to 
limit  or  control  the  direct  choice  of  the  people, 
such  as  the  use  of  the  lot  or  of  election  by  sev- 
eral degrees,  as  in  Venice,  must  fail,  and  all 
machinery  created  for  the  purpose  will  probably 
pass  away  by  evasion,  if  not  by  legislation. 
The  difficulties  of  constitutional  amendment  are 
so  great  that  it  will  be  long  before  any  legal 
change  is  made  in  the  mode  of  electing  Senators. 
It  is  not  unsafe  to  assume  that  if  any  change  be 
made  in  the  mode  of  nomination,  one  of  its  first 
uses  will  be  the  practical  imposition  on  all  legis- 
latures of  the  duty  of  electing  to  the  Senate 
persons  already  designated  by  the  voters  at  the 
polls. 

As  regards  the  state  legislators  themselves,  it 
is  well  to  remember  that  all  political  prophets 
require  nearly  as  much  time  as  the  Lyell  school 
of  geologists.  It  is  difficult  enough  to  foresee 
what  change  will  come  about,  but  it  is  still  more 
difficult  to  foretell  how  soon  it  will  come  about. 
No  writer  on  politics  should  forget  that  it  took 
five  hundred  years  for  Rome  to  fall,  and  fully  a 
thousand  years  to  educe  modern  Europe  from 
the  mediaeval  chaos.  That  the  present  legislative 
system  of  democracy  will  not  last  long  there  are 
abundant  signs,  but  in  what  way  it  will  be  got 
rid  of,  or  what  will  take  its  place,  or  how  soon 


138  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

democratic  communities  will  utterly  tire  of  it,  he 
would  be  a  very  rash  speculator  who  would  ven- 
ture to  say  confidently.  The  most  any  one  can 
do  is  to  point  out  the  tendencies  which  are  likely 
to  have  most  force,  and  to  which  the  public 
seems  to  turn  most  hopefully. 

At  present,  as  far  as  one  can  see,  the  demo- 
cratic world  is  filled  with  distrust  and  dislike  of 
its  parliaments,  and  submits  to  them  only  under 
the  pressure  of  stern  necessity.  The  alternative 
appears  to  be  a  dictatorship,  but  probably  the 
world  will  not  see  another  dictator  chosen  for 
centuries,  if  ever.  Democracies  do  not  admit 
that  this  is  an  alternative,  nor  do  they  admit 
^that  legislatures,  such  as  we  see  them,  are  the 
last  thing  they  have  to  try.  They  seem  to  be 
getting  tired  of  the  representative  system.  In 
no  country  is  it  receiving  the  praises  it  received 
forty  years  ago.  There  are  signs  of  a  strong 
disposition,  which  the  Swiss  have  done  much  to 
stimulate,  to  try  the  "referendum"  more  fre- 
quently, on  a  larger  scale,  as  a  mode  of  enacting 
laws.  One  of  the  faults  most  commonly  found 
in  the  legislatures,  as  I  have  already  said,  is  the 
fault  of  doing  too  much.  I  do  not  think  I 
exaggerate  in  saying  that  all  the  busier  states  in 
America,  in  which  most  capital  is  concentrated 
and  most  industry  carried  on,  witness  every 
meeting  of  the  state  legislature  with  anxiety  and 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  139 

alarm.  I  have  never  heard  such  a  meeting 
wished  for  or  called  for  by  a  serious  man  outside 
the  political  class.  It  creates  undisguised  fear 
of  some  sort  of  interference  with  industry,  some 
sort  of  legislation  for  the  benefit  of  one  class,  or 
the  trial  of  some  hazardous  experiment  in  judi- 
cial or  administrative  procedure,  or  in  public 
education  or  taxation.  There  is  no  legislature 
to-day  which  is  controlled  by  scientific  methods, 
or  by  the  opinion  of  experts  in  jurisprudence  or 
political  economy.  Measures  devised  by  such 
men  are  apt  to  be  passed  with  exceeding  diffi- 
culty, while  the  law  is  rendered  more  and  more 
uncertain  by  the  enormous  number  of  acts  passed 
on  all  sorts  of  subjects. 

Nearly  every  state  has  taken  a  step  towards 
meeting  this  danger  by  confining  the  meeting  of 
its  legislature  to  every  second  year.  It  has  said, 
in  other  words,  that  it  must  have  less  legislation. 
In  no  case  that  I  have  heard  of  has  the  opposi- 
tion to  this  change  come  from  any  class  except 
the  one  that  is  engaged  in  the  working  of  politi- 
cal machinery;  that  is,  in  the  nomination  or 
election  of  candidates  and  the  filling  of  places. 
The  rest  of  the  community  hails  it  with  delight. 
People  are  beginning  to  ask  themselves  why  legis- 
latures should  meet  even  every  second  year;  why 
once  in  five  years  would  not  be  enough.  An 
examination  of  any  state  statute-book  discloses 


140  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

the  fact  that  necessary  legislation  is  a  rare  thing; 
that  the  communities  in  our  day  seldom  need  a 
new  law;  and  that  most  laws  are  passed  without 
due  consideration,  and  before  the  need  of  them 
has  been  made  known,  either  by  popular  agita- 
tion, or  by  the  demand  of  experts.  It  would 
not  be  an  exaggeration  to  say  that  nine  tenths 
of  our  modern  state  legislation  will  do  no  good, 
and  that  at  least  one  tenth  of  it  will  do  positive 
harm.  If  half  the  stories  told  about  state  legisla- 
tures be  true,  a  very  large  proportion  of  the  mem- 
bers meet,  not  with  plans  for  the  public  good, 
but  with  plans  either  for  the  promotion  of  their 
personal  interests,  or  for  procuring  money  for 
party  uses,  or  places  for  party  agents. 

The  collection  of  such  a  body  of  men,  not  en- 
gaged in  serious  business,  in  the  state  capital,  is 
not  to  be  judged  simply  by  the  bills  they  intro- 
duce or  pass.  We  have  also  to  consider  the 
opportunities  for  planning  and  scheming  which 
the  meetings  offer  to  political  jobbers  and  adven- 
turers; and  the  effect,  on  such  among  them  as 
still  retain  their  political  virtue,  of  daily  contact 
with  men  who  are  there  simply  for  illicit  pur- 
poses, and  with  the  swarm  who  live  by  lobbying, 
and  get  together  every  winter  in  order  to  trade 
in  legislative  votes.  If  I  said,  for  instance,  that 
the  legislature  at  Albany  was  a  school  of  vice, 
a  fountain  of  political  debauchery,  and  that  few 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  141 

of  the  younger  men  came  back  from  it  without 
having  learned  to  mock  at  political  purity  and 
public  spirit,  I  should  seem  to  be  using  unduly 
strong  language,  and  yet  I  could  fill  nearly 
a  volume  with  illustrations  in  support  of  my 
charges.  The  temptation  to  use  their  great 
power  for  the  extortion  of  money  from  rich  men 
and  rich  corporations,  to  which  the  legislatures 
in  the  richer  and  more  prosperous  Northern 
states  are  exposed,  is  great;  and  the  legislatures 
are  mainly  composed  of  very  poor  men,  with  no 
reputation  to  maintain,  or  political  future  to  look 
after.  The  result  is  that  the  country  is  filled 
with  stories  of  scandals  after  every  adjournment, 
and  the  press  teems  with  abuse,  which  legislators 
have  learned  to  treat  with  silent  contempt  or 
ridicule,  so  that  there  is  no  longer  any  restraint 
upon  them.  Their  reelection  is  not  in  the  hands 
of  the  public,  but  in  those  of  the  party  man- 
agers, who,  as  is  shown  in  the  Payn  case  in  New 
York,  find  that  they  can  completely  disregard 
popular  judgments  on  the  character  or  history 
of  candidates. 

Side  by  side  with  the  annual  or  biennial  legis- 
lature, we  have  another  kind  of  legislature,  the 
"Constitutional  Convention,"  which  retains  every- 
body's respect,  and  whose  work,  generally  marked 
by  care  and  forethought,  compares  creditably 
with  the  legislation  of  any  similar  body  in  the 


142  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

world.  Through  the  hundred  years  of  national 
existence  it  has  received  little  but  favorable  criti- 
cism from  any  quarter.  It  is  still  an  honor  to 
have  a  seat  in  it.  The  best  men  in  the  commu- 
nity are  still  eager  or  willing  to  serve  in  it,  no 
matter  at  what  cost  to  health  or  private  affairs. 
I  cannot  recall  one  convention  which  has  incurred 
either  odium  or  contempt.  Time  and  social 
changes  have  often  frustrated  its  expectations, 
or  have  shown  its  provisions  for  the  public  wel- 
fare to  be  inadequate  or  mistaken,  but  it  is  very 
rare  indeed  to  hear  its  wisdom  and  integrity 
questioned.  In  looking  over  the  list  of  those 
who  have  figured  in  the  conventions  of  the  State 
of  New  York  since  the  Revolution,  one  finds  the 
name  of  nearly  every  man  of  weight  and  promi- 
nence ;  and  few  lay  it  down  without  thinking 
how  happy  we  should  be  if  we  could  secure  such 
service  for  our  ordinary  legislative  bodies. 

Now,  what  makes  the  difference?  Three 
things,  mainly.  First,  the  Constitutional  Con- 
vention, as  a  rule,  meets  only  once  in  about 
twenty  years.  Men,  therefore,  who  would  not 
think  of  serving  in  an  annual  legislature,  are 
ready  on  these  rare  occasions  to  sacrifice  their 
personal  convenience  to  the  public  interest.  Sec- 
ondly, every  one  knows  that  the  labors  of  the 
body,  if  adopted,  will  continue  in  operation  with- 
out change  for  the  best  part  of  one's  lifetime. 


THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES  143 

Thirdly,  its  conclusions  will  be  subjected  to  the 
strictest  scrutiny  by  the  public,  and  will  not  be 
put  in  force  without  adoption  by  a  popular  vote. 
All  this  makes  an  American  state  constitution, 
as  a  rule,  a  work  of  the  highest  statesmanship, 
which  reflects  credit  on  the  country,  tends  power- 
fully to  promote  the  general  happiness  and  pros- 
perity, and  is  quoted  or  copied  by  foreign  countries 
in  the  construction  of  organic  laws.  The  Consti- 
tutional Convention  is  as  conspicuous  an  example 
of  successful  government  as  the  state  legislatures 
are  of  failure.  If  we  can  learn  anything  from 
the  history  of  these  bodies,  therefore,  it  is  that 
if  the  meetings  of  the  legislature  were  much 
rarer,  say  once  in  five  or  ten  years,  we  should 
secure  a  higher  order  of  talent  and  character  for 
its  membership  and  more  careful  deliberation  for 
its  measures,  and  should  greatly  reduce  the  num- 
ber of  the  latter.  But  we  can  go  further,  and 
say  that  inasmuch  as  all  important  matter  de- 
vised by  the  convention  is  submitted  to  the  peo- 
ple with  eminent  success,  there  is  no  reason  why 
all  grave  measures  of  ordinary  legislation  should 
not  be  submitted  also.  In  other  words,  the 
referendum  is  not  confined  to  Switzerland.1  We 
have  it  among  us  already.  All,  or  nearly  all  our 
state  constitutions  are  the  product  of  a  referen- 
dum. The  number  of  important  measures  with 

1  Oberholtzer's  Referendum  in  America,  p.  15. 


144  THE  DECLINE  OF  LEGISLATURES 

which  the  legislature  feels  chary  about  dealing, 
which  are  brought  before  the  people  by  its  direc- 
tion, increases  every  year.  Upon  the  question 
of  the  location  of  the  state  capital  and  of  some 
state  institutions,  of  the  expenditure  of  public 
money,  of  the  establishment  of  banks,  of  the 
maintenance  or  sale  of  canals,  of  leasing  pubh'c 
lands,  of  taxation  beyond  a  certain  amount,  of 
the  prohibition  of  the  liquor  traffic,  of  the  exten- 
sion of  the  suffrage,  and  upon  several  other  sub- 
jects, a  popular  vote  is  often  taken  in  various 
states. 

In  short,  there  is  no  discussion  of  the  question 
of  legislatures  in  which  either  great  restriction 
in  the  number  or  length  of  their  sessions,  or  the 
remission  of  a  greatly  increased  number  of  sub- 
jects to  treatment  by  the  popular  vote,  does  not 
appear  as  a  favorite  remedy  for  their  abuses  and 
shortcomings.  If  we  may  judge  by  these  signs, 
the  representative  system,  after  a  century  of 
existence,  under  a  very  extended  suffrage,  has 
failed  to  satisfy  the  expectations  of  its  earlier 
promoters,  and  is  likely  to  make  way  in  its  turn 
for  the  more  direct  action  of  the  people  on  the 
most  important  questions  of  government,  and  a 
much-diminished  demand  for  all  legislation  what- 
ever. This,  at  all  events,  is  the  only  remedy 
now  in  sight,  which  is  much  talked  about  or  is 
considered  worthy  of  serious  attention. 


PECULIARITIES  OF  AMERICAN  MUNICI- 
PAL GOVERNMENT 

IN  trying  to  deduce  from  American  examples 
some  idea  of  the  probable  influence  of  modern 
democracy  on  city  government,  we  have  to  bear 
in  mind  that  the  municipal  history  of  America 
differs  greatly  from  that  of  Europe.  In  Europe, 
as  a  general  rule,  municipalities  either  existed 
before  the  state,  or  grew  up  in  spite  of  the 
state ;  that  is,  they  were  fresh  attempts  to  keep 
alive  the  sparks  of  civilization  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  before  anything  worthy  of  the  name  of  a 
state  had  been  organized,  or  else  they  sprang 
into  being  as  a  refuge  from  or  a  protest  against 
state  despotism.  In  either  case  they  always 
had  a  life  of  their  own,  and  often  a  very  vig- 
orous and  active  life.  No  European  city  can 
be  said  to  have  owed  its  growth  to  the  care  or 
authority  of  the  central  power.  Both  kings 
and  nobles  looked  on  cities  with  suspicion  and 
jealousy;  charters  were  granted,  in  the  main, 
with  reluctance,  and  often  had  to  be  retained  or 
extorted,  by  force  of  arms.  These  classes  re- 
cognized liberties  or  franchises  which  already 


146       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

existed,  rather  than  granted  new  privileges  or 
powers.  Municipal  life  was  either  an  inherit- 
ance from  the  Roman  Empire,  or  an  attempt  at 
social  reorganization  in  a  period  of  general  an- 
archy. 

American  cities,  on  the  contrary,  are  without 
exception  the  creations  of  a  state ;  they  have 
grown  up  either  under  state  supervision  or 
through  state  instigation ;  that  is,  they  owe 
their  origin  and  constitution  to  the  government. 
Their  charters  have  usually  been  devised  or  in- 
fluenced by  people  who  did  not  expect  to  live  in 
them,  and  who  had  no  personal  knowledge  of 
their  special  needs.  In  other  words,  an  Ameri- 
can municipal  charter  has  been  rather  the  em- 
bodiment of  an  a  priori  view  of  the  kind  of 
thing  a  city  ought  to  be,  than  a  legal  recogni- 
tion of  preexisting  wants  and  customs.  The 
complete  predominance  of  the  state  has  been  a 
leading  idea  in  the  construction  of  all  American 
charters.  No  legislature  has  been  willing  to 
encourage  the  growth  of  an  independent  munici- 
pal life.  No  charter  has  been  looked  on  as  a 
finality  or  as  organic  law.  In  fact,  the  modifi- 
cation or  alteration  of  charters  has  been  a  favor- 
ite occupation  of  legislatures,  stimulated  by  the 
rapid  growth  of  the  cities  and  by  the  absence 
of  all  historical  experience  of  municipal  life. 

The  idea  most  prominent  in  American  muni- 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       147 

cipal  history  is  that  cities  are  simply  places  in 
which  population  is  more  than  usually  concen- 
trated. Down  to  the  outbreak  of  the  war  this 
view  worked  fairly  well  in  most  cases.  The  cities 
were  small,  their  wants  were  few,  and  the  inhabi- 
tants had  little  or  no  thought  of  any  organiza- 
tion differing  much  from  ordinary  town  govern- 
ment. Gas,  water,  police,  and  street-cleaning 
had  not  become  distinct  municipal  needs.  Pigs 
were  loose  in  the  streets  of  New  York  until 
1830,  and  Boston  had  no  mayor  until  1822. 
Generally,  too,  the  government  was  administered 
by  local  notables.  Immigration  had  not  begun 
to  make  itself  seriously  felt  until  1846,  and 
down  to  1830,  at  least,  it  was  held  an  honor  to 
be  a  New  York  alderman.  For  the  work  of  gov- 
erning cities  or  making  charters  for  them,  the 
average  country  legislator  was  considered  abun- 
dantly competent.  It  presented  none  of  what 
we  now  call  "  problems."  The  result  was  that 
new  or  altered  charters  were  very  frequent.  The 
treatment  of  the  city  as  a  separate  entity,  with 
wants  and  wishes  of  its  own  and  entitled  to  a 
voice  in  the  management  of  its  own  affairs,  was 
something  unknown  or  unfamiliar.  In  1857, 
when,  under  the  influence  of  the  rising  tide  of 
immigration,  the  affairs  of  New  York  as  a  mu- 
nicipality seemed  to  become  unmanageable,  the 
only  remedy  thought  of  was  the  appointment  of 


148       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

state  commissioners  to  take  into  their  own  hands 
portions  of  the  city  business,  such  as  the  police, 
the  construction  of  a  park,  and  so  on. 

The  crisis  in  the  affairs  of  the  city  of  New 
York  which  is  known  as  the  Tweed  period  was 
simply  the  complete  breakdown  of  this  old  plan 
of  managing  the  affairs  of  the  city  through  the 
legislature.  Tweed  could  hardly  have  succeeded 
in  his  schemes  if  he  had  not  had  the  state  legis- 
lature at  his  back,  and  had  not  been  able  to 
procure  such  changes  in  the  charter  as  were 
necessary  for  his  purpose.  He  pushed  his  regime 
to  its  legitimate  consequences.  In  fact,  his 
career  is  entitled  to  the  credit  of  having  first 
made  city  government  a  question,  or  "  problem," 
of  American  politics.  I  doubt  much  whether, 
previous  to  his  day,  any  American  had  consid- 
ered it  as  being,  or  likely  to  become,  a  special 
difficulty  of  universal  suffrage.  But  his  success- 
ful rise  and  troublesome  career  now  presented  to 
the  public,  in  a  new  and  startling  light,  the  im- 
possibility of  governing  cities  effectively  by  treat- 
ing them  as  merely  pieces  of  thickly  peopled 
territory.  Ever  since  his  time  the  municipal 
difficulty  has  been  before  men's  minds  as  some- 
thing to  be  dealt  with  somehow ;  but  for  a  long 
time  no  one  knew  exactly  how  to  deal  with  it. 

There  was  an  American  way,  already  well 
known,  of  meeting  other  difficulties  of  govern- 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       149 

ment,  but  the  American  way  of  governing  large 
cities  under  a  pure  democracy,  no  one  seemed  to 
have  considered.  The  American  way  of  curing 
all  evils  had  hitherto  been  simply  to  turn  out 
the  party  in  power,  and  try  the  other.  It  had 
always  been  assumed  that  the  party  in  power 
would  dread  overthrow  sufficiently  to  make  it 
"  behave  well ; "  or,  if  it  did  not,  that  its  over- 
throw would  act  as  a  warning  which  would  pre- 
vent its  successor's  repeating  its  errors.  This 
system  had  always  been  applied  successfully  to 
federal  and  state  affairs ;  why  should  it  not  be 
applied  to  city  affairs  ?  Accordingly  it  was  so 
applied  to  city  affairs,  without  a  thought  of  any 
other  system,  down  to  1870.  But  in  1870  it 
began  to  dawn  on  people  that  party  government 
of  great  cities  would  hardly  do  any  longer. 
City  government,  it  was  seen,  is  in  some  sense 
a  business  enterprise,  and  must  be  carried  out 
either  by  the  kind  of  men  one  would  make  direc- 
tors of  a  bank  or  trustees  of  an  estate,  or  else  by 
highly  trained  officials. 

The  first  of  these  methods  is  not  open  any 
longer  in  America.  One  can  hardly  say  that 
the  respect  for  notables  no  longer  exists  in 
American  cities,  but  it  does  not  exist  as  a  politi- 
cal force  or  expedient.  The  habit  of  consider- 
ing conspicuous  inhabitants  as  entitled  to  lead- 
ing municipal  places  must  be  regarded  as  lost. 


150      AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

In  a  large  city  conspicuousness  is  rare,  and  wide- 
spread knowledge  of  a  man's  character  or  fitness 
for  any  particular  office  is  difficult.  Moreover, 
among  the  class  which  has  already  made  proof 
of  ability  in  other  callings,  readiness  to  under- 
take onerous  public  duties  is  not  often  to  be 
met  with.  Consequently,  with  few  exceptions, 
the  government  of  successful  modern  cities  has 
to  be  intrusted  to  experts,  and  to  get  experts 
salaries  must  be  large,  and  tenure  permanent. 
A  competent  professional  man  cannot,  as  a  rule, 
be  induced  to  accept  a  poorly  paid  place  for  a 
short  term.  Almost  as  soon  as  public  attention 
began  to  be  turned  to  the  subject,  the  practice 
began  of  seeking  these  experts  through  party 
organizations.  But  the  most  important  offices 
in  cities  are  elective,  and  the  idea  that  any  elec- 
tive office  could  be  divorced  from  party,  or  could 
be  made  non-partisan,  was  wholly  unfamiliar  to 
the  American  mind.  Ever  since  the  Union  was 
established,  men  had  always  filled  offices,  if  they 
could,  with  persons  who  agreed  with  them,  and 
with  whom  they  were  in  the  habit  of  acting  in 
federal  affairs.  That  city  offices  could  be  an 
exception  to  this  rule  was  an  idea  which,  when 
first  produced  twenty-five  years  ago,  was  deemed 
ridiculous,  and  is  even  yet  not  thoroughly  estab- 
lished among  the  mass  of  the  voters.  The  be- 
lief that  offices  were  "spoils  "  or  perquisites  was, 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       151 

unfortunately,  most  dominant  during  the  years 
of  great  immigration  which  preceded  and  imme- 
diately followed  the  war,  and  became  imbedded 
in  the  minds  of  the  newcomers  as  peculiarly 
"  American."  With  this  came,  not  unnaturally, 
the  notion  that  no  one  would  serve  faithfully,  in 
any  official  place,  the  party  to  which  he  did  not 
belong.  Full  party  responsibility,  it  was  said, 
required  that  every  place  under  the  government, 
down  to  the  lowest  clerkship,  should  be  filled  by 
members  of  the  party  in  power. 

In  no  place  did  this  notion  find  readier  accept- 
ance than  in  cities,  because  the  offices  in  them 
were  so  numerous,  and  the  elections  so  frequent, 
and  the  salaries,  as  compared  with  those  of  the 
country,  so  high.  The  possession  of  the  city 
government,  too,  meant  the  possibility  of  grant- 
ing a  large  number  of  illicit  favors.  For  the 
laborer,  there  was  sure  employment  and  easy 
work  in  the  various  public  departments ;  for  the 
public-house  keeper,  there  was  protection  against 
the  execution  of  the  liquor  laws  by  the  police ; 
for  the  criminal  classes,  there  was  slack  prosecu- 
tion by  the  district  attorney,  or  easy  "jury  fix- 
ing" by  the  commissioner  of  jurors;  for  the 
contractor,  there  were  profitable  jobs  and  much 
indulgence  for  imperfect  execution;  for  the 
police,  there  were  easy  discipline  and  impunity 
for  corrupt  abuses  of  power.  In  fact,  the  cities 


152       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

furnished  a  perfect  field  for  the  practice  of  the 
spoils  system,  and  the  growth  in  them  of  rings 
and  organizations  like  Tammany  was  the  natural 
and  inevitable  consequence.  No  such  organiza- 
tion could  be  created  for  charitable  purposes,  or 
for  the  mere  diffusion  of  religious  or  political 
opinions.  It  was  made  possible  in  New  York 
by  the  number  of  places  and  benefits  at  its 
disposal.  The  effect  on  the  imagination  of  the 
newly  arrived  emigrant,  whether  Irish  or  Ger- 
man, was  very  great.  It  shut  out  from  his  view 
both  city  and  state  as  objects  of  his  allegiance, 
and  made  recognition  by  the  "  leader "  of  the 
district  in  which  he  lived  the  first  object  of  his 
ambition  in  his  new  country. 

What  is  true  of  New  York  is  true,  mutatis 
mutandis,  of  all  the  other  large  cities,  —  Phila- 
delphia, Chicago,  Cincinnati,  St.  Louis.  They 
all  have  an  organization  resembling  Tammany, 
created  and  maintained  by  the  same  means ;  and 
at  the  head  of  the  organization  there  is  a  man, 
ignorant  perhaps  of  all  other  things,  but  gifted 
with  unusual  capacity  for  controlling  the  poor 
and  dependent,  who  has  come  since  Tweed's  day 
to  be  known  as  a  "boss."  He  arises  naturally  as 
a  condition  of  success,  and  if  he  has  favors  to 
bestow  he  arises  all  the  more  rapidly.  The  boss 
is,  in  short,  the  inevitable  product  of  the  spoils 
system.  He  must  have  sensible  advantages  to 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       153 

give  away  in  order  to  retain  his  power,  and  he  is 
necessary  for  their  effective  distribution.  There 
has  to  be  some  one  to  say  decisively  who  is  to 
have  this  or  that  office  or  prize,  who  deserves 
it,  and  whose  services  cannot  be  had  without  it. 
There  could  hardly  be  a  better  proof  and  illus- 
tration of  this  than  the  way  in  which  the  boss 
system  has  spread  all  over  the  country.  In  all 
cities  and  in  many  states  every  political  organi- 
zation now  has  a  similar  officer  at  its  head.  It 
remained  for  some  tune  after  Tweed's  day  the 
reproach  of  the  Democrats  that  they  submitted 
to  an  arbitrary  ruler  of  this  kind,  but  the  Re- 
publicans are  nearly  everywhere  imitating  them. 
There  are  but  few  states,  and  there  is  no  large 
city,  in  which  the  offices  or  nominations  for 
office  are  not  parceled  out  by  one  man  acting  in 
the  name  of  an  "  organization."  Tweed's  con- 
trol of  the  city  and  legislature  was  not  more 
complete  than  is  Platt's  in  New  York  or  Quay's 
in  Pennsylvania.  The  system  is  evidently  one 
which  saves  trouble,  and  makes  it  easier  to 
secure  the  blind  obedience  of  large  masses  of 
men.  Its  end  is  bad,  but  that  it  attains  this  end 
there  can  be  no  doubt. 

It  can  thus  be  easily  seen  that  no  American 
city  has  ever  been  administered  with  reference 
to  its  own  interests.  In  not  one,  until  our  own 
time,  has  there  been  even  a  pretense  of  non-par- 


154       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

tisanship  ;  that  is,  the  filling  of  the  offices  solely 
with  a  view  to  efficiency  in  the  discharge  of  their 
duties.  As  a  rule,  they  have  been  filled  with  a 
view  to  the  promotion  of  opinions  on  some  fed- 
eral question,  such  as  the  tariff,  or  as  a  reward 
for  services  rendered  at  federal  elections.  The 
state  of  things  thus  produced  in  American  cities 
closely  resembles  the  state  of  things  produced  in 
the  Middle  Ages  by  religious  intolerance,  when 
the  main  concern  of  governments  was  not  so 
much  to  promote  the  material  interests  of  their 
subjects,  as  to  maintain  right  opinions  with  re- 
gard to  the  future  life.  The  filling  of  a  city 
office  by  a  man  simply  because  he  holds  certain 
views  regarding  the  tariff,  or  the  currency,  or 
the  banks,  is  very  like  appointing  him  to  an 
office  of  state  because  he  is  a  good  Catholic  or 
can  conscientiously  sign  the  Thirty-Nine  Arti- 
cles ;  that  is  to  say,  his  fitness  for  his  real  duties 
is  not  a  consideration  of  importance  in  filling 
the  place.  No  private  business  could  be  carried 
on  in  this  way,  and  it  is  doubtful  whether  any 
attempt  to  carry  it  on  in  this  way  was  ever  made. 
But  the  temptation  to  resort  to  it  under  party 
government  and  universal  suffrage  is  strong,  for 
the  reasons  which  I  have  tried  to  set  forth  in 
treating  of  the  nominating  system.  The  task  of 
inducing  large  bodies  of  men  to  vote  in  a  par- 
ticular way  is  such,  that  it  is  hardly  wonderful 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       155 

that   party  managers   should   use   every  means 
within  their  reach  for  its  performance. 

One  of  the  effects  of  the  system,  and  possibly 
the  worst  and  most  difficult  to  deal  with,  is  the 
veiling  of  the  city  from  the  popular  eye,  as  the 
main  object  of  allegiance  and  attention,  by  what 
is  called  "  the  organization,"  namely,  the  club  or 
society,  presided  over  by  the  boss,  which  man- 
ages party  affairs.  The  tendency  among  men 
who  take  a  strong  interest  in  politics  to  look 
upon  the  organization  as  their  real  master,  to 
boast  of  their  devotion  to  it  as  a  political  virtue, 
to  call  themselves  "  organization  men,"  and  to 
consider  the  interests  of  the  organization  as  para- 
mount to  those  of  the  city  at  large,  is  an  inter- 
esting development  of  party  government.  All 
political  parties  originate  in  a  belief  that  a  cer- 
tain idea  can  be  best  spread,  or  a  certain  policy 
best  promoted,  by  the  formation  of  an  organi- 
zation for  the  purpose.  The  other  belief,  that 
one's  own  party  is  fittest  for  power,  and  deserves 
support  even  when  it  makes  mistakes,  easily 
follows.  This  is  very  nearly  the  condition  of 
the  public  mind  about  federal  parties.  A  large 
number  of  votes  are  cast  at  every  federal  elec- 
tion merely  to  show  confidence  in  the  party, 
rather  than  approval  of  its  position  with  regard 
to  any  specific  question.  There  is  a  still  further 
stage  in  the  growth  of  party  spirit,  in  which  the 


156       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

voter  supports  his  party,  right  or  wrong,  no 
matter  how  much  he  may  condemn  its  policy  or 
its  acts,  on  the  ground  that  it  is  made  up  of 
better  material  than  the  other  party,  and  that 
the  latter,  if  in  power,  would  be  more  dangerous. 
The  Republican  party,  in  particular,  commands  a 
great  deal  of  support,  especially  from  the  profes- 
sional and  educated  classes  throughout  the  coun- 
try, on  these  grounds.  They  vote  for  it  as  the 
least  wrong  or  least  likely  to  be  mischievous,  even 
if  they  feel  unable  to  vote  for  it  as  wise  or  pure. 
But  in  the  cities  still  another  advance  has 
been  made,  and  the  parties  have  really  been 
separated  from  politics  altogether,  and  treated, 
without  disguise,  as  competitors  for  the  disposal 
of  a  certain  number  of  offices  and  the  handling 
of  a  certain  amount  of  money.  The  boss  on 
either  side  rarely  pretends  to  have  any  definite 
opinions  on  any  federal  question,  or  to  concern 
himself  about  them.  He  proclaims  openly  that 
his  side  has  the  best  title  to  the  offices,  and  the 
reason  he  gives  for  this  is,  generally,  that  the 
other  side  has  made  what  he  considers  mistakes. 
He  hardly  ever  pleads  merits  of  his  own.  In 
fact,  few  or  none  of  the  bosses  have  ever  been 
writers  or  speakers,  or  have  ever  been  called  on 
to  discuss  public  questions  or  have  opinions 
about  them.  The  principal  ones,  Tweed,  Kelly, 
Croker,  Platt,  and  Quay,  have  been  either  silent 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       157 

or  illiterate  men,  famed  for  their  reticence,  and 
have  plumed  themselves  on  their  ability  to  do 
things  without  talk.  In  New  York,  they  have 
succeeded  in  diffusing  among  the  masses,  to  a 
certain  extent,  the  idea  that  a  statesman  should 
not  talk,  but  simply  "  fix  things,"  and  vote  the 
right  way ;  that  is,  they  have  divorced  discussion 
from  politics.  One  of  the  boss's  amusements, 
when  he  is  disposed  to  be  humorous,  is  doing 
something  or  saying  something  to  show  how 
little  influence  voters  and  writers  have  on  af- 
fairs. In  the  late  senatorial  canvass  in  New 
York,  a  number  of  letters  commending  one  of 
the  candidates,  who  happened  to  be  the  Repub- 
lican boss,  were  published,  most  of  them  from 
young  men,  and  it  was  interesting  to  see  how 
many  commended  silence  as  one  of  the  best  at- 
tributes of  a  Senator. 

Consequently,  nearly  all  discussions  of  city 
affairs  are  discussions  about  places.  What  place 
a  particular  man  will  get,  what  place  he  is  trying 
to  get,  and  by  what  disappointment  about  places 
he  is  chagrined,  or  "  disgruntled,"  as  the  term 
is,  form  the  staple  topics  of  municipal  debates. 
The  rising  against  Tammany  in  1894,  which  re- 
sulted in  the  election  of  Mayor  Strong,  to  some 
extent  failed  to  produce  its  due  effect,  owing  to 
his  refusal  to  distribute  places  so  as  to  satisfy 
Mr.  Platt,  the  Republican  leader ;  or,  in  other 


158       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

words,  to  give  Mr.  Platt  the  influence  in  dis- 
tributing the  patronage  to  which  he  held  that 
he  was  entitled.  This  led  to  the  frustration,  or 
long  delay,  of  the  legislation  which  was  neces- 
sary to  make  the  overthrow  of  Tammany  of 
much  effect.  Some  of  the  necessary  bills  the 
legislature,  which  was  controlled  by  Platt,  re- 
fused to  pass,  and  others  it  was  induced  to  pass 
only  by  great  effort  and  after  long  postpone- 
ment. No  reason  was  ever  assigned  for  this 
hostility  to  Strong's  proposals,  except  failure  in 
the  proper  distribution  of  offices.  No  doubt  a 
certain  amount  of  discussion  of  plans  for  city 
improvement  has  gone  on,  but  it  has  gone  on 
among  a  class  which  has  no  connection  with 
politics  and  possesses  little  political  influence. 
The  class  of  politicians,  properly  so  called,  com- 
monly refuses  to  interest  itself  in  any  such  dis- 
cussions, unless  it  can  be  assured  beforehand 
that  the  proposed  improvements  will  be  carried 
out  by  certain  persons  of  their  own  selection, 
who  are  seldom  fit  for  the  work. 

In  addition  to  reliance  on  change  of  parties 
for  the  improvement  of  city  government,  much 
dependence  has  been  placed  on  the  old  American 
theory  that  when  things  get  very  bad,  sufficient 
popular  indignation  will  be  roused  to  put  an  end 
to  them ;  that  the  evil  will  be  eradicated  by 
something  in  the  nature  of  a  revolution,  as  in 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       159 

the  case  of  Tweed  and  of  the  Tammany  abuses 
in  1894.  But  this  theory,  as  regards  cities,  has 
to  be  received  with  much  modification.  Popu- 
lar indignation  is  excited  by  violent  departures 
from  popular  standards ;  the  popular  conscience 
has  to  be  shocked  by  striking  disregard  of  the 
tests  established  by  popular  usage ;  in  order  that 
this  may  happen,  the  popular  conscience  has  to 
be  kept,  if  I  may  use  the  expression,  in  a  state 
of  training.  Now,  for  the  mass  of  such  voters 
as  congregate  in  great  cities,  training  for  the 
public  conscience  consists  largely  in  the  specta- 
cle of  good  government.  Their  standards  de- 
pend largely  on  what  they  see.  People  must 
have  a  certain  familiarity  with  something  better, 
—  that  is,  must  either  remember  or  see  it,  —  in 
order  to  be  really  discontented  with  their  pre- 
sent lot.  But  when  once  the  mass  of  men  have 
obtained  liberty  and  security,  it  becomes  increas- 
ingly difficult  to  rouse  them  into  activity  about 
matters  of  apparently  less  consequence.  In 
other  words,  incompetence  or  corruption  in  the 
work  of  administration  being  rarely  visible  to 
the  public  eye,  the  masses  are  not  as  easily 
shocked  by  it  as  they  are  by  bad  legislation,  or 
by  such  interferences  with  personal  liberty  as 
liquor  or  other  sumptuary  laws.  Their  notion 
of  what  ought  to  be,  is  largely  shaped  by  what 
is.  The  political  education  of  the  people  in  a 


160      AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

democracy,  especially  in  large  cities,  is  to  a  con- 
siderable degree  the  work  of  the  government. 
The  way  in  which  they  see  things  done  becomes 
in  their  eyes  the  way  in  which  they  ought  to  be 
done ;  the  kind  of  men  they  see  in  public  office 
becomes  the  kind  of  men  they  think  fit  for  pub- 
lic office.  The  part  the  actual  government  plays 
in  forming  the  political  ideals  of  the  young  is 
one  of  the  neglected  but  most  important  topics 
of  political  discussion.  Our  youth  learn  far 
more  of  the  real  working  of  our  institutions  by 
observation  of  the  men  elected  or  appointed  to 
office,  particularly  to  the  judicial  and  legislative 
offices,  than  from  school-books  or  newspapers. 
The  election  of  a  notoriously  worthless  or  cor- 
rupt man  as  a  judge  or  member  of  the  legisla- 
ture makes  more  impression  on  a  young  mind 
than  any  chapter  in  a  governmental  manual,  or 
any  college  lecture. 

For  this  reason,  the  application  of  the  civil 
service  rules  to  subordinate  city  offices,  which 
has  now  been  in  existence  in  New  York  and  Bos- 
ton for  many  years,  is  an  extremely  important 
contribution  to  the  work  of  reform,  however 
slow  its  operation  may  be.  To  make  known  to 
the  public  that  to  get  city  places  a  man  must 
come  up  to  the  standard  of  fitness  ascertained 
by  competitive  examination  is  not  simply  a 
means  of  improving  the  municipal  service,  but 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       161 

an  educative  process  of  a  high  order.  The 
same  thing  may  be  said  of  such  matters  as  the 
expulsion  from  office  of  the  Tammany  police 
justices  by  the  general  removal  act,  passed  when 
Mr.  Strong  came  into  office  in  1895,  in  spite  of 
all  the  blemishes  in  its  execution.  It  made  clear 
to  the  popular  mind,  as  nothing  else  could,  that 
a  certain  degree  of  character  and  education  was 
necessary  to  the  discharge  of  even  minor  judi- 
cial functions,  and  that  the  Tammany  standard 
of  "  common  sense  "  and  familiar  acquaintance 
with  the  criminal  classes  was  not  sufficient.  The 
covert  or  open  opposition  to  what  is  called  civil 
service  reform,  on  the  part  of  nearly  the  whole 
political  class  in  cities,  goes  to  confirm  this  view. 
There  could  be  no  greater  blow  to  the  existing 
system  of  political  management  than  the  with- 
drawal of  the  offices  from  arbitrary  disposal  by 
the  bosses.  The  offices  have  been  for  half  a  cen- 
tury the  chief  or  only  means  of  rewarding  sub- 
ordinate agents  for  political  work  and  activity. 

One  effect,  and  a  marked  one,  of  this  with- 
drawal has  been  the  introduction  of  the  practice 
of  levying  blackmail  on  corporations,  nominally 
for  political  purposes.  Nothing  is  known  certainly 
about  the  amounts  levied  in  this  way,  but  there 
are  two  thousand  corporations  in  New  York 
exposed  to  legislative  attack,  and  in  the  aggre- 
gate their  contributions  must  reach  a  very  large 


162      AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

sum.  Since  the  boss  has  obtained  command  of 
the  legislature  as  well  as  of  the  city,  —  that  is, 
since  Tweed's  time,  —  they  are  literally  at  the 
mercy  of  the  legislature,  or,  in  other  words,  at 
his  mercy.  Their  taxes  may  be  raised,  or,  in  the 
case  of  gas  companies  or  railroad  companies, 
their  charges  lowered.  The  favorite  mode  of 
bringing  insurance  companies  to  terms  is  order- 
ing an  examination  of  their  assets,  which  may 
be  done  through  the  superintendent  of  insur- 
ance, who  is  an  appointee  of  the  governor  and 
Senate,  or,  virtually,  of  the  boss.  This  exami- 
nation has  to  be  paid  for  by  the  company,  and, 
I  am  told,  may  be  made  to  cost  $ 200,000  ;  it  is 
usually  conducted  by  politicians  out  of  a  job,  of 
a  very  inferior  class.  To  protect  themselves 
from  annoyances  of  this  sort,  the  corporations, 
which  it  must  be  remembered  are  creations  of 
the  law,  and  increase  in  number  every  year,  are 
only  too  glad  to  meet  the  demands  of  the  boss. 
Any  "  campaign  "  contribution,  no  matter  how 
large,  and  it  is  sometimes  as  high  as  $50,000  or 
even  $100,000,  is  small  compared  to  the  ex- 
pense which  he  can  inflict  on  them  by  his  mere 
fiat.  Of  course  this  is  corruption,  and  the  cor- 
porations know  it.  The  officers,  however  high 
they  may  stand  in  point  of  business  character, 
submit  to  it,  or  connive  at  it.  In  many  cases,  if 
not  in  most,  they  even  confess  it.  They  defend 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       163 

their  compliance,  too,  on  grounds  which  carry 
one  back  a  long  way  in  the  history  of  settled 
government.  That  is,  they  say  that  their  first 
duty  is  to  protect  the  enormous  amount  of  pro- 
perty committed  to  their  charge,  a  large  portion 
of  which  belongs  to  widows  and  orphans ;  that 
if  they  have  any  duty  at  all  in  the  matter  of 
reforming  municipal  and  state  administration,  it 
is  a  secondary  and  subordinate  one,  which  should 
not  be  performed  at  the  cost  of  any  damage  to 
these  wards ;  that,  therefore,  the  sum  they  pay 
to  the  boss  may  be  properly  considered  as  given 
to  avert  injury  against  which  the  law  affords  no 
protection.  They  maintain  that  in  all  this  mat- 
ter they  are  victims,  not  offenders,  and  that  the 
real  culprit  is  the  government  of  the  State, 
which  fails  to  afford  security  to  property  in  the 
hands  of  a  certain  class  of  owners. 

I  will  not  attempt  to  discuss  here  the  sound- 
ness of  this  view  in  point  of  morality.  It  is  to 
be  said,  in  extenuation  at  least,  that  the  prac- 
tices of  which  the  corporations  are  accused  pre- 
vail all  over  the  Union,  in  city  and  in  country, 
East  and  West.  I  have  had  more  than  one  ad- 
mission made  to  me  by  officers  of  companies 
that  they  kept  an  agent  at  the  state  capital  dur- 
ing sessions  of  the  legislature  for  the  express 
purpose  of  shielding  them,  by  means  of  money, 
against  legislative  attacks,  and  that  without  this 


164       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

they  could  not  carry  on  business.  It  has  been 
the  custom,  I  am  afraid,  to  a  greater  or  less  ex- 
tent, for  corporations  to  keep  such  agents  at  the 
state  capitals  ever  since  corporations  became  at 
all  numerous  and  rich,  —  for  fully  fifty  years. 
What  is  peculiar  and  novel  about  the  present 
situation  is  that  the  boss  has  become  a  general 
agent  for  all  the  companies,  and  saves  them  the 
trouble  of  keeping  one  at  their  own  cost,  in  Al- 
bany or  Harrisburg,  or  in  any  other  state  capi- 
tal. He  receives  what  they  wish  or  are  expected 
to  pay,  and  in  return  he  guarantees  them  the 
necessary  protection.  He  is  thus  the  channel 
through  which  pass  all  payments  made  by  any 
one  for  "  campaign  "  purposes.  If  his  party  is 
not  in  office  he  receives  very  little,  barely  enough 
to  assure  him  of  good  will.  When  his  party  is 
in  power,  as  the  power  is  his,  there  need  be  prac- 
tically no  limit  to  his  demands. 

If  it  be  asked  why  the  corporations  do  not 
themselves  revolt  against  this  system  and  stop  it 
by  exposure,  the  answer  is  simple  enough.  In 
the  first  place,  most  of  the  corporations  have 
rivals,  and  dread  being  placed  at  a  disadvan- 
tage by  some  sort  of  persecution  from  which 
competitors  may  have  bought  exemption.  The 
thing  which  they  dread  most  is  business  failure 
or  defeat.  For  this  they  are  sure  to  be  held 
accountable  by  stockholders  or  by  the  public ; 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       165 

for  submitting  to  extortion,  they  may  not  be 
held  accountable  by  anybody.  In  the  next  place, 
the  supervision  exercised  by  the  state  officers  be- 
ing lax  or  corrupt,  the  corporations  are  likely  to 
be  law-breakers  in  some  of  their  practices,  and  to 
dread  exposure  or  inquiry.  In  many  cases,  there- 
fore, they  are  doubtless  only  too  glad  to  buy  peace 
or  impunity,  and  this  their  oppressors  probably 
know  very  well.  Last  of  all,  and  perhaps  the 
most  powerful  among  the  motives  for  submis- 
sion, is  the  fear  of  vengeance  in  case  they  should 
not  succeed.  A  corporation  which  undertook 
to  set  the  boss  at  defiance,  would  enter  on  a 
most  serious  contest,  with  little  chance  of  suc- 
cess. All  the  influences  at  his  command,  politi- 
cal and  judicial,  would  be  brought  into  play  for 
its  defeat.  Witnesses  would  disappear,  or  refuse  to 
answer.  Juries  would  be  "  fixed ;  "  judges  would 
be  technical  and  timid ;  the  press  would  be  bought 
up  by  money  or  advertising,  or  by  political  in- 
fluence; other  motives  than  mere  resistance  to 
oppression  would  be  invented  and  imputed ;  the 
private  character  of  the  officers  would  be  assailed. 
In  short,  the  corporation  would  probably  fail,  or 
appear  to  fail,  in  proving  its  case,  and  would 
find  itself  substantially  foiled  in  its  undertaking, 
after  having  expended  a  great  deal  of  money, 
and  having  excited  the  bitter  enmity  of  the  boss 
and  of  all  the  active  politicians  among  his  fol- 


166       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

lowers.  It  can  hardly  be  expected  that  a  com- 
pany would  make  such  an  attempt  without  far 
stronger  support  than  it  would  receive  from  the 
public,  owing  to  the  general  belief  that  no  cor- 
poration would  come  into  court  with  clean  hands. 
How  little  effect  public  support  would  give  in 
such  a  contest,  as  long  as  the  power  of  the  boss 
over  the  legislators  and  state  officials  continues, 
through  the  present  system  of  nomination,  may 
be  inferred  from  what  has  happened  in  the  case 
of  the  enlargement  of  the  city  of  New  York, 
known  as  the  Greater  New  York  Bill.1 

1  The  history  of  this  measure  has  been  so  concisely  written 
by  Mr.  J.  B.  Bishop  that  I  cannot  avoid  quoting  him  :  — 

"  The  most  impressive  demonstration  of  the  despotic  power 
behind  these  decisions  was  made  in  connection  with  the  proposed 
charter  for  Greater  New  York.  This  had  been  drawn  by  the 
commission  created  by  the  act  of  1896.  It  had  been  prepared 
in  secret,  and  only  very  inadequate  opportunity  had  been  given 
for  public  inspection  of  it  before  it  was  sent  to  the  legislature  ; 
yet,  in  the  brief  time  afforded,  it  had  been  condemned  in  very 
strong  terms  by  what  I  may  truthfully  call  the  organized 
and  individual  intelligence  of  the  community.  The  Bar  Asso- 
ciation, through  a  committee  which  contained  several  of  the 
leading  lawyers  of  the  city,  subjected  it  to  expert  legal  examina- 
tion, and  declared  it  to  be  so  full  of  defects  and  confusing  pro- 
visions as  to  be  '  deplorable,'  and  to  give  rise,  if  made  law,  '  to 
mischiefs  far  outweighing  any  benefits  which  might  reasonably 
be  expected  to  flow  from  it.'  The  Chamber  of  Commerce,  the 
Board  of  Trade,  the  Clearing  House  Association,  the  City  Club, 
the  Union  League  Club,  the  Reform  Club,  the  Real  Estate  Ex- 
change, all.  the  reputable  ex-mayors  and  other  officials,  expressed 
equally  strong  condemnation,  especially  of  certain  leading  pro- 
visions of  the  instrument ;  and  the  legislature  was  formally  re- 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       167 

The  subjection  of  the  city  to  the  person  who 
controls  the  legislature  is  secured  in  part  by  the 
use  of  federal  and  possibly  city  offices,  and  in 
part  by  the  extortion  of  money  from  property- 
quested  to  give  more  time  to  the  subject  by  postponing  the  date 
on  which  the  charter  should  become  operative.  Not  the  slight- 
est attention  was  paid  at  Albany  to  any  of  these  requests.  The 
Bar  Association's  objections  were  passed  over  in  silence,  as  in- 
deed were  all  the  protests.  The  charter,  excepting  a  few  trifling 
changes,  was  passed  without  amendment  by  both  Houses  of  the 
legislature  by  an  overwhelming  vote.  Only  six  of  the  one  hun- 
dred and  fourteen  Republican  members  voted  against  it  in  the 
Assembly,  and  only  one  of  the  thirty-six  Republican  members  in 
the  Senate.  There  was  no  debate  upon  it  in  the  Assembly.  The 
men  who  voted  for  the  charter  said  not  a  word  in  its  favor,  and 
not  a  word  in  explanation  of  their  course  in  voting  against  all 
proposals  to  amend  it.  In  the  Senate,  the  charter's  chief  advo- 
cates declared  frankly  their  belief  that  it  was  a  measure  of 
'  political  suicide,'  since  it  was  certain  to  put  the  proposed  en- 
larged city  into  the  hands  of  their  opponents,  the  Democrats  ; 
yet  they  all  voted  for  it  because  it  had  been  made  a  party  mea- 
sure, —  that  is,  the  despot  had  said  it  must  pass.  After  its  first 
passage,  it  was  sent,  for  public  hearings  and  approval,  to  the 
mayors  of  the  three  cities  affected  by  its  provisions.  The  oppo- 
sition developed  at  the  hearings  in  New  York  city  was  very  im- 
pressive, —  so  much  so  that  Mayor  Strong,  who,  as  an  ex  officio 
member  of  the  charter  commission,  had  signed  the  report  which 
had  accompanied  it  when  it  went  to  the  legislature,  was  moved 
by  a  '  strong  sense  of  public  duty '  to  veto  it  because  of  '  serious 
and  fundamental  defects.'  When  the  charter,  with  his  veto 
message,  arrived  in  Albany,  the  two  Houses  passed  it  again  by 
virtually  the  same  vote  as  at  first,  and  without  either  reading 
the  mayor's  message,  or  more  than  barely  mentioning  his  name. 
One  of  the  members  who  voted  for  it  said  privately,  '  If  it  were 
not  for  the  fact  that  the  "  old  man "  wants  it,  I  doubt  if  the 
charter  would  get  a  dozen  votes  in  the  legislature  outside  the 
Brooklyn  and  Long  Island  members.' " 


168       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

holders,  for  purposes  of  corruption ;  and  all 
remedy  for  this  is  impeded  or  wholly  hindered 
by  the  interest  of  city  voters  in  matters  other 
than  municipal. 

The  earliest  remedy,  —  the  substitution  of  one 
party  in  the  city  government  for  another,  — 
which  has  been  employed  steadily  by  each  party 
for  the  last  half  century  with  singular  acquies- 
cence on  the  part  of  the  public,  has  been  to  some 
degree  supplanted,  since  the  war,  by  another, 
namely,  the  modification  of  the  charter,  so  as  to 
secure  greater  concentration  of  power  in  few 
hands.  More  and  more  authority  has  been  with- 
drawn from  the  bodies  elected  for  purposes  of 
legislation,  and  has  been  transferred  to  the 
bodies  elected  for  purposes  of  administration. 
Before  the  late  change  in  the  city  charter,  the 
New  York  board  of  aldermen,  by  a  process  of 
deprivation  pursued  through  long  years,  was  be- 
reft of  all  but  the  most  insignificant  powers. 
The  preparation  of  the  city  estimates  and  the 
imposition  of  the  city  taxes,  two  peculiarly  legis- 
lative duties,  were  transferred  bodily  to  a  small 
board  composed  of  the  mayor  and  heads  of  de- 
partments. Nearly  every  change  in  charters  has 
armed  the  mayor  with  more  jurisdiction.  This 
movement  has  run  on  lines  visible  in  almost  all 
democratic  communities.  The  rise  of  the  boss 
is  distinctly  one  of  its  results.  There  is  every- 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       169 

where  a  tendency  to  remit  to  a  single  person  the 
supreme  direction  of  large  bodies  of  men  ani- 
mated with  a  common  purpose  or  hound  together 
by  common  ideas.  One  sees  in  this  person  dim 
outlines  of  the  democratic  Csesar  of  the  Napole- 
onic era,  but  he  differs  in  that  he  has  to  do  his 
work  under  the  full  glare  of  publicity,  has  to  be 
able  to  endure  "  exposure  "  and  denunciation  by 
a  thousand  newspapers,  and  to  bear  overthrow 
by  combinations  among  his  own  followers  with 
equanimity,  and  has  to  rely  implicitly  on  "  man- 
agement "  rather  than  on  force. 

The  difficulty  of  extracting  from  a  large  demo- 
cracy an  expression  of  its  real  will  is,  in  fact, 
slowly  becoming  manifest.  It  is  due  partly  to 
the  size  of  the  body,  and  partly  to  the  large 
number  of  voters  it  must  necessarily  contain  who 
find  it  troublesome  to  make  up  their  minds,  or 
who  fail  to  grasp  current  questions,  or  who  love 
and  seek  guidance  in  important  transactions.  On 
most  of  the  great  national  questions  of  our  day, 
except  in  exciting  times,  a  large  proportion  of 
the  voters  do  not  hold  their  opinions  with  much 
firmness  or  tenacity,  or  with  much  distinctness. 
On  one  point  in  particular,  which  has  great  im- 
portance in  all  modern  democracies,  —  the  effect 
of  any  specific  measure  on  the  party  prospects,  — 
the  number  of  men  who  have  clear  ideas  is  very 
small.  The  mass  to  be  influenced  is  so  large, 


170       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

and  the  susceptibilities  of  different  localities 
differ  so  widely,  that  fewer  and  fewer  persons, 
except  those  who  "  have  their  hand  on  the  ma- 
chine," venture  on  a  confident  prediction  as  to 
the  result  of  an  election.  The  consequence  is 
that  those  who  do  hold  clean-cut  opinions,  and 
pronounce  them  with  courage,  speedily  acquire 
influence  and  authority,  almost  in  spite  of  them- 
selves. Indeed,  almost  every  influence  now  in 
operation,  both  in  politics  and  in  business,  tends 
to  the  concentration  of  power.  The  disposition 
to  combine  several  small  concerns  into  one  large 
one,  to  consolidate  corporations,  and  to  convert 
private  partnerships  into  companies,  is  but  an 
expression  of  the  general  desire  to  remit  the 
work  of  management  or  administration  to  one 
man  or  to  a  very  few  men.  In  all  considerable 
bodies  who  wish  to  act  together  for  common 
objects,  the  many  are  anxious  to  escape  the  re- 
sponsibility of  direction,  and,  naturally  enough, 
this  has  shown  itself  in  city  government  as  well 
as  in  party  government. 

This  tendency  has  been  temporarily  obscured 
in  New  York  by  the  consolidation  of  the  suburbs 
into  what  is  called  the  Greater  New  York.  In 
order  to  secure  this,  that  is,  to  obtain  the  consent 
of  "  the  politicians,"  it  has  been  found  necessary 
to  revive  the  old,  long-tried,  and  much-condemned 
plan  of  a  city  legislature  with  two  branches,  a 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       171 

number  of  boards,  and  a  wide  diffusion  of  re- 
sponsibility. There  is  about  this  new  machinery 
an  appearance  of  local  representative  self-govern- 
ment, but  it  is  only  an  appearance.  The  real 
power  of  interference,  change,  or  modification 
still  resides  in  the  legislature  at  Albany,  and  the 
habit  of  interference  is  already  formed  and 
active. 

What  modern  municipalities  need,  especially 
in  America,  is  a  regime  in  which,  without  hesi- 
tation, without  study,  without  lawyers'  or  ex- 
perts' opinions,  the  humblest  laborer  can  tell  who 
is  responsible  for  any  defect  he  may  discover 
in  the  police  of  the  streets,  in  the  education  of 
his  children,  or  in  the  use  and  mode  of  his  taxa- 
tion. 

To  secure  such  a  regime,  however,  the  control 
of  state  legislatures  in  America  over  cities  must 
be  either  reduced  or  destroyed,  and  this  seems 
the  task  which,  above  all,  has  first  to  be  ac- 
complished by  municipal  reforms;  it  is  really 
the  one  in  which  they  are  now  engaged,  though, 
apparently,  sometimes  unconsciously.  The  "  hear- 
ings "  of  leading  citizens  by  legislative  commit- 
tees, which  almost  invariably  accompany  the 
passage  by  state  legislatures  of  measures  affect- 
ing municipal  government,  are  in  the  nature  of 
protests  against  legislative  action,  or  assertions 
of  the  incompetency  of  the  legislature  to  deal 


172       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

with  the  matter  in  hand.  The  contemptuous 
indifference  with  which  they  are  generally  treated 
is  simply  an  assertion  that,  under  no  circum- 
stances, will  the  legislature  surrender  its  power. 
This  has  been  curiously  illustrated  by  the  recent 
complete  refusal  of  the  New  York  legislature  to 
pay  any  attention  to  the  power  of  veto  given  to 
the  mayors  of  New  York  cities  by  the  late  con- 
stitutional convention.  This  provision  has  had 
so  little  effect  that  a  mayor's  objections  to  any 
particular  piece  of  legislation  are  not  even  dis- 
cussed, much  less  answered.  It  has  seemed  as 
if  the  legislature  were  unwilling  to  allow  it  to 
be  supposed  that  it  could  ever  be  in  any  way 
influenced  by  the  criticism  or  suggestion  of  local 
notables.  All  American  legislatures  have  long 
shown  unwillingness  to  adopt  suggestions  or  sub- 
mit to  interference  from  the  outside.  Few,  if 
any,  of  the  numerous  reports  of  commissions  on 
taxation  or  municipal  government  or  other  sub- 
jects made  during  the  last  thirty  years,  have 
received  any  attention. 

There  is  another  reason  why  state  legislatures 
are  unwilling  to  relinquish  their  control  of  cities, 
and  it  is  nearly  as  potent  as  any ;  that  is,  the 
accumulation  of  wealth  in  the  cities  as  compared 
to  the  country.  One  of  the  peculiarities  of  an 
agricultural  population  is  the  small  amount  of 
cash  it  handles.  Farmers,  as  a  general  ride,  live 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       173 

to  some  extent  on  their  own  produce,  wear  old 
clothes,  as  people  are  apt  to  do  in  the  country, 
pay  no  house-rent,  very  rarely  divert  themselves 
by  "  shopping,"  and  seldom  see  any  large  sum 
of  money  except  at  their  annual  sales  after  har- 
vest. In  short,  as  compared  with  an  urban  pop- 
ulation, they  live  with  what  seems  great  economy. 
The  temptations  to  small  expenses  which  so  con- 
stantly beset  a  city  man  seldom  come  in  their  way. 
Their  standard  of  living  in  dress,  food,  clothing, 
and  furniture  is  much  lower  than  that  of  a  city 
population  of  a  corresponding  class.  The  result 
is  that  money  has  a  much  greater  value  in  their 
eyes  than  in  those  of  the  commercial  class. 
They  part  with  a  dollar  more  reluctantly ;  they 
think  it  ought  to  go  farther.  They  look  on  a 
city  man's  notion  of  salaries  as  utterly  extrava- 
gant or  unreasonable,  and  to  receive  such  salaries 
seems  to  them  almost  immoral.  City  life  they 
consider  marked  throughout  by  gross  extrava- 
gance. 

Moreover,  the  farmer  finds  it  very  difficult  to 
place  a  high  value  on  labor  which  is  not  done 
with  the  hands  and  does  not  involve  exposure  to 
weather.  Difference  of  degree  in  value  of  such 
labor  it  is  hard,  if  not  impossible,  to  estimate. 
The  expense  of  training  for  an  intellectual  occu- 
pation, such  as  a  lawyer's  or  a  doctor's,  he  is  not 
willing  to  take  into  account.  One  consequence 


174       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

of  this  has  been  that,  though  almost  all  servants 
of  the  government  —  judges,  secretaries,  collec- 
tors —  live  in  cities  or  by  city  standards,  their 
salaries  are  fixed  not  so  much  by  the  market 
value  of  their  services,  as  by  the  farmer's  notion 
of  what  is  reasonable ;  for  the  farmer  is  as  yet 
the  ruling  power  in  America.  The  salaries  of 
the  federal  judges,  for  instance,  were  fixed  at 
the  establishment  of  the  government  by  the 
largest  annual  earnings  of  a  lawyer  of  the  high- 
est standing  of  that  day ;  they  are  now  about 
one  fourth  of  what  such  a  lawyer  earns,  and  it 
would  be  difficult  or  impossible  to  increase  them. 
The  farmer's  inability,  too,  to  estimate  degrees 
in  the  value  of  such  services  leads  him  to  sup- 
pose that  what  they  are  worth  is  the  sum  for 
which  anybody  will  undertake  to  render  them, 
and  that  if  any  member  of  the  bar  offered  to 
discharge  the  duties  of  a  judge  of  the  Supreme 
Court  for  one  thousand  dollars  a  year,  it  would 
be  proper  enough  to  accept  his  services  at  that 
rate.  This  great  difference  has  some  important 
political  consequences  also.  It  leads  to  agricul- 
tural distrust  of  urban  views  on  finance,  and 
produces  in  country  districts  a  deep  impression 
of  city  recklessness  and  greed.  City  exchanges, 
whether  stock  or  produce,  are  supposed  by  the 
farmer  to  be  the  resorts  of  gamblers  rather  than 
instruments  of  legitimate  business. 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       175 

In  truth,  the  difference  in  needs  and  interests 
and  points  of  view  between  the  city  and  the 
country  arises  almost  as  soon  as  anything  which 
can  be  called  a  city  comes  into  existence.  Close 
contact  with  many  other  men,  familiarity  with 
the  business  of  exchanging  commodities,  the 
necessity  for  frequent  cooperation,  all  help  to 
convert  the  inhabitant  of  cities  into  a  new 
type  of  man.  The  city  man  has  always  been  a 
polished  or  "  urbane  "  man.  The  distinction 
between  him  and  the  "  rustic,"  in  mind  and 
manners,  has  in  all  ages  been  among  the  com- 
monplaces of  literature.  One  material  effect  of 
this  difference  is  that  the  urban  man  has  been 
an  object  of  slight  dislike  or  jealousy  to  the 
country  man.  His  greater  alertness  of  mind, 
which  comes  from  much  social  intercourse,  and 
familiarity  with  trade  and  commerce,  makes  him 
in  some  degree  an  object  of  suspicion  to  the 
latter,  who  constantly  dreads  being  outwitted  by 
him.  Cities,  too,  have  always  been  to  the  coun- 
try man  resorts  of  vice  of  one  sort  or  another, 
and  all  that  he  hears  of  the  temptations  of  city 
life  fills  him  with  a  sense  of  his  own  moral  supe- 
riority. To  the  poet  and  to  the  farmer  the 
country  has  been  the  seat  of  virtue,  simplicity, 
and  purity ;  the  one  moralist  who  practiced  his 
own  precepts  was  the  rustic  moralist.  It  has 
been  very  natural,  therefore,  that  in  America, 


176       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

in  which  the  country  has  had  the  power  before 
the  city,  and  not,  as  in  Europe,  the  city  before 
the  country,  the  country  should  have  tried  with 
peculiar  care  to  retain  its  free  domination  over 
the  city. 

This  process  has  been  made  easy,  not  only  by 
the  fact  that  the  city  was  generally  created  by 
the  state,  but  by  our  practice  of  selecting  our 
state  capitals,  not  for  judicial,  or  commercial,  or 
historical,  but  for  topographical  considerations. 
No  other  people  has  been  in  the  habit,  or  has 
had  the  opportunity,  of  choosing  places  for  its 
political  capitals  at  all.  In  all  other  countries, 
if  I  am  not  mistaken,  the  capitals  were  made  by 
trade,  or  commerce,  or  manufactures,  or  some 
ancient  drift  of  population.  But  in  many  of 
our  states  the  political  capital  is  not  the  chief 
city  in  wealth  or  population ;  it  owes  its  political 
preeminence  to  the  fact  that  it  was  within  easy 
reach  from  all  parts  of  the  state,  in  the  days 
when  travel  was  slow  and  difficult,  —  a  circum- 
stance now  of  no  importance  whatever.  Were 
capitals  selected  with  us  by  the  agencies  to 
which  they  owe  their  existence  in  the  Old 
World,  New  York  would  be  the  capital  of  the 
State  of  New  York,  Philadelphia  of  Pennsylva- 
nia, Cincinnati  of  Ohio,  Chicago  of  Illinois,  and 
Detroit  of  Michigan. 

The  present   arrangement  has  proved  unfor- 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       177 

tunate  in  two  ways :  it  has  helped  to  confirm 
the  rural  mind  in  a  belief  in  the  inferiority  and 
insignificance  of  cities  as  compared  to  the  coun- 
try ;  and  it  has  kept  legislators,  when  in  session, 
secluded  from  the  observation  of  the  most  ac- 
tive-minded portion  of  the  population,  and  from 
intercourse  with  them,. and  has  deprived  them  of 
the  information  and  the  new  ideas  which  such 
intercourse  brings  with  it.  Members  of  Con- 
gress and  of  the  state  legislatures  suffer  seri- 
ously in  mind  and  character  from  our  practice 
of  cutting  them  off,  during  their  official  lives, 
from  communion  with  the  portion  of  the  popu- 
lation most  immersed  in  affairs,  and  of  keeping 
them  out  of  sight  of  those  who  are  most  com- 
petent to  understand  their  action  and  to  criticise 
it.  No  one  who  has  paid  much  attention  to  our 
political  life  can  have  helped  observing  the  in- 
jurious effect  on  the  legislative  mind  of  massing 
legislators  together  in  remote  towns,  in  which 
they  exchange  ideas  only  with  one  another,  and 
get  no  inkling  of  the  real  drift  of  public  opinion 
about  a  particular  measure  until  it  has  been  irre- 
vocably acted  upon.  There  is  no  question  that 
this  has  been  in  all  parts  of  the  country  a  power- 
ful aid  to  the  boss  in  preserving  his  domination. 
Nothing  can  suit  his  purpose  better  than  to  get 
his  nominees  together  in  some  remote  corner  of 
the  state,  in  which  he  can  instruct  them  in  their 


178       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

duties  and  watch  their  action  without  disturb- 
ance from  outside  currents  of  criticism  or  sug- 
gestion. Every  legislature  is  the  better,  and  its 
tone  is  the  healthier,  for  being  kept  in  close 
contact  with  the  leading  centres  of  business  in 
the  community,  and  hearing  daily  or  hourly 
from  its  men  of  affairs.  Much  of  the  ignorance 
about  exchange,  credit,  and  currency,  and  of  the 
suspicion  of  bankers  and  men  of  business,  which 
has  shown  itself  in  our  legislative  capitals  in 
late  years,  has  been  due  to  the  isolation  of  the 
rural  legislator  from  social  intercourse  with  men 
engaged  in  other  pursuits  than  his  own. 

But  the  most  serious  drawback  in  the  practice 
of  making  political  capitals  to  order  is  undoubt- 
edly its  tendency  to  lessen  the  rural  legislator's 
sense  of  the  importance  of  cities,  and  to  in- 
crease his  readiness  to  interfere  in  their  govern- 
ment without  any  real  knowledge  of  their  needs. 
This  readiness  is  one  of  the  greatest  difficulties 
of  American  municipal  government.  It  arises, 
as  I  have  said,  partly  from  the  historical  ante- 
cedents of  our  cities ;  partly  from  the  country- 
man's sense  of  moral  superiority,  in  which  the 
clergy  and  the  poets  try  to  confirm  him ;  and 
partly  from  the  fear  inspired  by  the  rapid 
growth  of  the  cities  in  population,  and  the  belief 
that  their  interests  are  in  some  manner  different 
from  those  of  the  country.  This  belief  found 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       179 

expression  in  the  provision  of  the  New  York 
Constitution  that  the  new  city  and  county  of 
New  York  should  never  be  represented  by  more 
than  half  the  state  Senate.  There  is  a  vague 
fear  diffused  through  the  rural  districts  that  if 
the  cities  should  get  the  upper  hand  in  the  state 
government,  or  should  succeed  in  achieving  even 
a  quasi-independence,  some  serious  consequence 
to  the  whole  community  would  follow.  But  to 
have  any  fear  on  the  subject  is  to  question  the 
whole  democratic  theory.  The  system  of  politi- 
cal division  into  states  and  districts  and  counties, 
with  separate  representation,  is  an  admission  that 
different  localities  have  different  interests,  of 
which  other  localities  are  not  competent  to  take 
charge.  It  is  on  this  idea  that  local  self-govern- 
ment is  based.  It  is  the  principal  reason  why 
New  York  does  not  govern  Massachusetts,  or 
Buffalo  govern  New  York. 

In  the  case  of  cities  this  difference  is  simply 
magnified,  and  the  incompetency  of  other  dis- 
tricts or  counties  for  the  work  of  their  manage- 
ment is  made  more  than  usually  plain.  To  sup- 
pose that  a  city  is  less  fit  to  govern  itself  than 
are  more  thinly  peopled  districts,  or  that  its 
political  ascendency  would  contain  danger  to  the 
state,  is  to  abandon  the  democratic  theory.  In 
a  democratic  community  there  is  really  no  con- 
flict of  interests  between  city  and  country ;  the 


180       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

prosperity  of  one  makes  the  prosperity  of  the 
other.  Neither  can  grow  rich  by  the  impoverish- 
ment of  the  other.  From  the  democratic  point 
of  view,  a  city  is  merely  a  very  large  collection 
of  people  in  one  spot,  with  many  wants  peculiar 
to  such  large  collections.  To  deny  its  fitness  to 
govern  itself  is  to  deny  the  majority  principle 
with  strong  emphasis.  Nevertheless,  the  at- 
tempts hitherto  made  in  America  to  secure  re- 
form in  the  administration  of  cities  have  been 
almost  exclusively  efforts  to  wrest  greater  powers 
of  local  administration  from  the  state  legisla- 
tures, which  consist  in  the  main  of  farmers,  who 
have  no  special  interest  in  cities  whatever,  but 
who  are  indomitable  champions  of  local  self- 
government  in  all  other  political  divisions.  In 
three  states  only,  as  yet,  Missouri,  California, 
and  Washington,  have  the  cities  succeeded  in 
securing  a  constitutional  right  to  approve  their 
own  charters  before  they  go  into  operation, 
which  is  the  furthest  step  in  advance  that  has 
been  made.  In  twenty-three  states  they  are 
constitutionally  secured  against  having  special 
charters  made  for  them  by  the  legislature,  with 
or  without  their  consent.  Whatever  sort  of  or- 
ganic law  is  imposed  in  one  city  in  these  states 
must  be  imposed  in  all.  But  in  ten  states  the 
cities  are  still  at  the  mercy  of  the  legislature, 
which  may  govern  them  by  special  legislation, 


AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT       181 

and  make,  amend,  or  annul  charters  at  its  dis- 
cretion, without  pity  or  remorse. 

In  looking  at  the  history  and  condition  of 
municipalities  in  America,  one  consideration 
meets  us  at  every  stage ;  that  is,  that  in  no  other 
civilized  country  is  municipal  government  so 
completely  within  the  control  of  public  opinion. 
Everywhere  else  there  are  deeply  rooted  tradi- 
tions, long-established  customs,  much-respected 
vested  rights  and  cherished  prejudices,  to  be 
dealt  with,  before  any  satisfactory  framework  of 
city  government  can  be  set  up.  Here  the  whole 
problem  is  absolutely  at  the  disposal  of  popular 
sentiment.  Our  cities,  therefore,  might  most 
easily  have  been  the  model  cities  of  the  modern 
world.  Birmingham  and  Glasgow  and  Berlin, 
in  other  words,  ought  to  have  been  in  America. 
It  is  we  who  ought  to  have  shown  the  Old 
World  how  to  live  comfortably  in  great  masses 
in  one  place.  We  have  no  city  walls  to  pull 
down,  or  ghettos  to  clear  out,  or  guilds  to  buy 
up,  or  privileges  to  extinguish.  We  have  sim- 
ply to  provide  health,  comfort,  and  education,  in 
our  own  way,  according  to  the  latest  experience 
in  science,  for  large  bodies  of  free  men  in  one 
spot. 

This  is  as  much  as  saying  that  in  talking  of 
the  municipal  question  we  describe  a  state  of  the 
popular  mind,  and  not  a  state  of  law.  Charters 


182       AMERICAN  MUNICIPAL  GOVERNMENT 

are  nowhere  else  in  the  world  an  expression  of 
popular  thought  as  much  as  in  America.  They 
are  merely  what  people  believe  or  permit  at  any 
given  period.  Very  often  they  are  well  adapted 
to  our  needs,  like  the  late  New  York  charter, 
but  fail  to  give  satisfaction,  because,  having  pro- 
vided the  charter,  we  take  no  pains  to  secure 
competent  officials.  Finding  that  it  does  not 
work  well,  we  seek  a  remedy  by  making  a  change 
in  its  provisions  rather  than  in  the  men  who 
administer  it.  In  this  way  our  municipal  woes 
are  perpetuated,  and  we  continue  to  write  and 
talk  of  charters  as  if  they  were  self-acting  ma- 
chines, instead  of  certain  ways  of  doing  busi- 
ness. No  municipal  reform  will  last  long  or 
prove  efficient  without  a  strong  and  healthy 
public  spirit  behind  it.  With  this  almost  any 
charter  would  prove  efficient. 


THE  GEOWTH  AND  EXPRESSION  OF 
PUBLIC  OPINION 

PUBLIC  opinion,  like  democracy  itself,  is  a 
new  power  which  has  come  into  the  world  since 
the  Middle  Ages.  In  fact,  it  is  safe  to  say  that 
before  the  French  Revolution  nothing  of  the 
kind  was  known  or  dreamt  of  in  Europe.  There 
was  a  certain  truth  in  Louis  XIV.'s  statement, 
which  now  sounds  so  droll,  that  he  was  himself 
the  state.  Public  opinion  was  his  opinion.  In 
England,  it  may  be  said  with  equal  safety,  there 
was  nothing  that  could  be  called  public  opinion, 
in  the  modern  sense,  before  the  passage  of  the 
Reform  Bill.  It  began  to  form  itself  slowly 
after  1816.  Sir  Robert  Peel  was  forced  to  re- 
mark in  a  letter  to  Croker  in  March,  1820 :  — 

"  Do  you  not  think  that  the  tone  of  England, 
of  that  great  compound  of  folly,  weakness,  pre- 
judice, wrong  feeling,  right  feeling,  obstinacy, 
or  newspaper  paragraphs,  which  is  called  public 
opinion,  is  more  liberal  —  to  use  an  odious  but 
intelligible  phrase  —  than  the  policy  of  the 
government  ?  Do  not  you  think  that  there  is  a 
feeling  becoming  daily  more  general  and  more 


184  PUBLIC   OPINION 

confirmed  —  that  is  independent  of  the  pressure 
of  taxation,  or  any  immediate  cause  —  in  favor 
of  some  undefined  change  in  the  mode  of  govern- 
ing the  country?  It  seems  to  me  a  curious 
crisis,  when  public  opinion  never  had  such  influ- 
ence in  public  measures,  and  yet  never  was  so 
dissatisfied  with  the  share  which  it  possessed. 
It  is  growing  too  large  for  the  channels  that  it 
has  been  accustomed  to  run  through.  God 
knows  it  is  very  difficult  to  widen  them  equally 
in  proportion  to  the  size  and  force  of  the  current 
which  they  have  to  convey,  but  the  engineers 
that  made  them  never  dreamed  of  various  streams 
that  are  now  struggling  for  vent." 

In  short,  Peel  perceived  the  growth  of  the 
force,  and  he  recognized  it  as  a  new  force.  In 
America  public  opinion  can  hardly  be  said  to 
have  existed  before  the  Revolution.  The  opin- 
ions of  leading  men,  of  clergymen  and  large 
landholders,  were  very  powerful,  and  settled 
most  of  the  affairs  of  state ;  but  the  opinion  of 
the  majority  did  not  count  for  much,  and  the 
majority,  in  truth,  did  not  think  that  it  should. 
In  other  words,  public  opinion  had  not  been 
created.  It  was  the  excitement  of  the  Revolu- 
tionary War  which  brought  it  into  existence, 
and  made  it  seem  omnipotent.  It  is  obvious, 
however,  that  there  are  two  kinds  of  public 
opinion.  One  kind  is  the  popular  belief  in  the 


PUBLIC  OPINION  185 

fitness  or  lightness  of  something,  which  Mr. 
Balfour  calls  "  climate,"  a  belief  that  certain 
lines  of  conduct  should  be  followed,  or  a  certain 
opinion  held,  by  good  citizens,  or  right-thinking 
persons.  Such  a  belief  does  not  impose  any 
duty  on  anybody  beyond  outward  conformity  to 
the  received  standards.  The  kind  I  am  now 
talking  of  is  the  public  opinion,  or  consensus  of 
opinion,  among  large  bodies  of  persons,  which 
acts  as  a  political  force,  imposing  on  those  in 
authority  certain  legislation,  or  certain  lines  of 
policy.  The  first  of  these  does  not  change,  and 
is  not  seriously  modified  in  much  less  than  fifty 
years.  The  second  is  being  incessantly  modified 
by  the  events  of  the  day. 

All  the  writers  on  politics  are  agreed  as  to  the 
influence  which  this  latter  public  opinion  ought 
to  have  on  government.  They  all  acknowledge 
that  in  modern  constitutional  states  it  ought  to 
be  omnipotent.  It  is  in  deciding  from  what 
source  it  should  come  that  the  democrats  and 
the  aristocrats  part  company.  According  to  the 
aristocratic  school,  it  should  emanate  only  from 
persons  possessing  a  moderate  amount  of  pro- 
perty, on  the  assumption  that  the  possession  of 
property  argues  some  degree  of  intelligence  and 
interest  in  public  affairs.  According  to  the 
democratic  school,  it  should  emanate  from  the 
majority  of  the  adult  males,  on  the  assumption 


186  PUBLIC  OPINION 

that  it  is  only  in  this  way  that  legislators  can  be 
made  to  consult  the  greatest  good  of  the  great- 
est number,  and  that,  in  the  long  run,  the  major- 
ity of  adult  males  are  pretty  sure  to  be  right 
about  public  questions.  President  Lincoln  came 
near  defining  this  theory  when  he  said,  "  You 
can  fool  part  of  the  people  all  the  time,  and  ah1 
the  people  part  of  the  time,  but  you  cannot  fool 
all  the  people  all  the  time."  This  probably 
meant  that  under  the  democratic  system  public 
opinion  forms  slowly,  and  has  to  be  clarified  by 
prolonged  discussion,  but  that  it  is  sure  to  prove 
correct  eventually. 

What  appears  most  to  concern  us  in  the  ten- 
dencies of  democratic  government  is  not  so 
much  the  quality  of  public  opinion,  as  the  way 
in  which  it  exercises  its  power  over  the  conduct 
of  affairs.  I  was  struck  recently  by  a  remark  in 
a  private  letter,  that  "  public  opinion  is  as  sound 
as  ever,  but  that  the  politicians  " —  that  is,  the 
men  in  control  of  affairs  —  "  pay  just  as  little 
attention  to  it  as  ever."  There  is  an  assump- 
tion here  that  we  can  get  at  public  opinion  in 
some  other  way  than  through  elections ;  that  is, 
that  we  may  know  what  the  public  thinks  on 
any  particular  question,  without  paying  attention 
to  what  men  in  power,  who  seek  to  obey  the 
political  will,  do  or  say,  as  a  condition  of  their 
popular  existence.  Is  this  true  of  any  demo- 


PUBLIC  OPINION  187 

cratic  country  ?  Is  it  true,  in  particular,  of  the 
United  States  of  America  ? 

There  are  only  two  ways  in  which  public 
opinion  upon  political  questions  finds  expression, 
or  is  thought  to  find  it.  One  is  the  vote  at 
elections,  the  other  is  journalism.  But  public 
opinion  declares  itself  through  elections  only  at 
intervals  of  greater  or  less  length :  in  England, 
once  in  five  or  six  years;  in  America,  once  in 
two  years,  or  at  most  in  four ;  in  France,  once 
in  four  years.  It  is  only  at  these  periods  that 
public  opinion  must  be  sought ;  at  others,  it  is 
consulted  at  the  will  of  the  minister  or  sovereign. 

O      r 

and  he  rarely  consults  it  when  he  can  help  it,  if 
he  thinks  that  its  decision  will  be  against  him, 
and  that  the  result  will  be  a  loss  of  power.  The 
imperfection  of  elections,  however,  as  a  means 
of  making  public  opinion  known,  is  very  ob- 
vious. It  is  seldom,  indeed,  that  a  definite  issue 
is  submitted  to  the  public,  like  the  Swiss  refer- 
endum, and  that  the  voters  are  asked  to  say  yes 
or  no,  in  answer  to  a  particular  question.  As 
a  rule,  it  is  the  general  policy  of  the  party  in 
power,  on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  which  appears  to 
determine  the  action  of  the  voters.  The  bulk 
of  them,  on  both  sides,  vote  for  their  own  party 
in  any  event,  no  matter  what  course  it  has  pur- 
sued, on  the  principle  that  if  what  it  has  done 
in  a  particular  case  is  not  right,  it  was  as  nearly 


188  PUBLIC  OPINION 

right  as  circumstances  would  permit.  The  rem- 
nant, or  "  independents,"  who  turn  the  scale  to 
one  side  or  the  other,  have  half  a  dozen  reasons 
for  their  course,  or,  in  other  words,  express  by 
their  vote  their  opinions  on  half  a  dozen  sub- 
jects, besides  the  one  on  which  the  verdict  of 
the  majority  is  sought.  During  the  last  thirty 
years,  for  instance,  in  the  United  States,  it  would 
have  been  almost  useless  to  consult  the  voters 
on  any  subject  except  the  tariff.  No  matter 
what  question  might  have  been  put  to  them,  it 
•would  almost  surely  have  been  answered  with 
reference  mainly  to  the  effect  of  the  answer  on 
the  tariff.  All  other  matters  would  have  been 
passed  over.  In  like  manner,  it  has  probably 
been  impossible  in  England,  for  ten  or  twelve 
years,  to  get  a  real  expression  of  opinion  on  any 
subject  except  Irish  home  rule.  To  the  inquiry 
what  people  thought  about  the  Armenian  mas- 
sacres, or  education,  or  liquor  regulation,  the 
voters  were  pretty  sure  to  answer,  "  We  are  op- 
posed to  Irish  home  rule."  Accordingly,  after 
every  election  there  are  disputes  as  to  what  it 
means.  The  defeated  party  seldom  acknow- 
ledges that  its  defeat  has  been  due  to  the  mat- 
ters on  which  the  other  side  claims  a  victory. 
The  great  triumph  of  the  Conservatives  in  1894 
was  ascribed  by  them  to  home  rule,  but  by  the 
Liberals  to  local  option  and  clerical  hostility 


PUBLIC  OPINION  189 

to  the  common  schools.  Similarly,  the  Repub- 
lican defeat  in  America  in  1890  was  due,  ac- 
cording to  one  party,  to  the  excesses  of  the 
McKinley  tariff,  and,  according  to  the  other,  to 
gross  deceptions  practiced  on  the  voters  as  to  its 
probable  effect  on  prices. 

What  are  called  "  electioneering  devices  "  or 
"  tricks  "  are  largely  based  on  this  uncertainty. 
That  is,  they  are  meant  to  influence  the  voters 
by  some  sort  of  matter  irrelevant  to  the  main 
issue.  This  is  called  "  drawing  a  red  herring 
across  the  scent."  A  good  example  of  it  is  to 
be  found  in  the  practice,  which  has  prevailed 
during  nearly  the  whole  tariff  agitation,  of  citing 
the  rage,  or  disgust,  or  misery  of  foreigners  due 
to  our  legislation,  as  a  reason  for  persisting  in 
it,  —  as  if  any  legislation  which  produced  this 
effect  on  foreigners  must  be  good.  But,  obvi- 
ously, there  might  be  much  legislation  which 
would  excite  the  hostility  of  foreigners,  and  be 
at  the  same  time  injurious  to  this  country.  In 
voting  on  the  tariff,  a  large  number  of  voters  — 
the  Irish  for  instance  —  might  be,  and  doubtless 
were,  influenced  in  favor  of  high  duties  by  the 
fact  that,  to  a  large  extent,  they  would  exclude 
British  goods,  and  thus  they  appeared  to  be 
approving  a  protective  policy  in  general.  No- 
body believes  that  in  Germany  the  increasing 
Socialist  vote  represents  Socialist  ideas,  properly 


190  PUBLIC  OPINION 

so  called.  It  expresses  discontent  generally 
with  the  existing  regime.  In  Ireland,  too,  the 
vote  at  a  general  election  does  not  express  sim- 
ply an  opinion  on  the  question  which  has  dis- 
solved Parliament.  Rather,  it  expresses  gen- 
eral hostility  to  English  rule.  In  Italy,  elections 
mostly  turn  on  the  question  of  the  temporal 
power  of  the  Pope.  In  fact,  wherever  we  look 
at  the  modes  of  obtaining  expressions  of  public 
opinion,  we  find  that  elections  are  not  often 
reliable  as  to  particular  measures,  except  through 
the  referendum.  In  all  democratic  countries,  it 
is  the  practice  of  the  bulk  of  the  voters  to  indi- 
cate by  their  votes  their  confidence  in,  or  distrust 
of,  the  party  in  power,  rather  than  their  opinions 
on  any  particular  measure.  It  is  the  few  who 
turn  the  scale  who  are  really  influenced  by  the 
main  question  before  the  voters.  The  rest  fol- 
low their  party  prepossessions,  or  rely  on  the 
party  managers  to  turn  the  majority,  if  they 
secure  it,  to  proper  account. 

In  England,  some  reliance  is  placed  on  what 
are  called  "  bye  elections,"  —  or  elections  caused 
by  vacancies  occurring  between  two  general  elec- 
tions, —  as  indications  of  the  trend  of  public 
opinion  touching  the  acts  or  policy  of  the  min- 
istry. But  these  elections  very  seldom  show 
more  than  slight  diminution  or  slight  increase 
of  preceding  majorities,  and  the  result,  as  an 


PUBLIC   OPINION  191 

instruction,  is  very  often  made  uncertain  by  local 
causes,  such  as  the  greater  or  less  popularity  of 
one  of  the  candidates.  They  may,  and  gener- 
ally do,  reveal  the  growing  or  declining  popu- 
larity of  the  party  in  power  in  the  constituency 
in  which  they  occur,  but  rarely  can  be  held  to 
express  the  opinion  of  the  majority  on  any  par- 
ticular matter.  There  are  several  ways  of  ac- 
counting for  any  changes  which  have  occurred 
in  the  total  vote,  all  equally  plausible.  In 
America,  town  or  county  elections  serve  some- 
what the  same  purpose.  They  are  watched,  not 
so  much  with  reference  to  their  influence  on 
local  affairs,  as  with  reference  to  the  light  they 
throw  on  the  feelings  of  the  voters  toward  the 
administration  for  the  time  being.  It  is  taken 
for  granted  that  no  local  wants  or  incidents  will 
prevent  the  bulk  of  the  voters  from  casting  their 
ballots  as  members  of  federal  parties. 

It  is  probably  this  disposition  to  vote  on  the 
general  course  of  the  administration,  rather  than 
on  any  particular  proposal,  which  causes  what  it 
is  now  the  fashion  to  call  the  "  swinging  of  the 
pendulum,"  —  that  is,  the  tendency  both  in 
England  and  in  America  to  vote  in  a  different 
way  at  alternate  elections,  or  never  to  give  any 
party  more  than  one  term  in  power.  If  public 
attention  were  apt  to  be  concentrated  on  one 
measure,  this  could  hardly  occur  so  frequently. 


192  PUBLIC  OPINION 

It  doubtless  indicates,  not  positive  condemna- 
tion of  any  particular  thing,  so  much  as  disap- 
proval or  weariness  of  certain  marked  features 
of  the  government  policy.  The  voters  get  tired 
both  of  praise  and  of  blame  of  particular  men, 
and  so  resolve  to  try  others ;  or  they  get  tired 
of  a  certain  policy,  and  long  for  something  new. 
It  is  a  little  difficult  to  fix  on  the  exact  cause  of 
such  changes,  but  it  seems  pretty  certain  that 
they  cannot  be  considered  definite  expressions  of 
opinion  on  specific  subjects.  Then,  owing  to  the 
electoral  divisions  through  which  every  country 
chooses  legislators,  a  far  greater  change  may 
often  be  made  in  the  legislature  than  the  vote 
in  the  separate  constituencies  warrants.  For  in- 
stance, a  President  may  readily  be  chosen  in  the 
United  States  by  a  minority  of  the  popular  vote ; 
and  in  England,  an  enormous  majority  in  the 
House  of  Commons  may  rest  on  a  very  small 
aggregate  majority  of  the  electors.  There  never 
was  a  more  striking  illustration  of  the  difficulty 
of  getting  at  popular  opinion  than  the  defeat  of 
the  Disraeli  ministry  in  1880.  It  was  the  con- 
fident belief  of  all  the  more  instructed  portion 
of  the  community  —  the  gentry,  the  clergy,  and 
the  professional  class  —  that,  rightly  or  wrongly, 
public  opinion  was  on  the  side  of  the  ministry, 
and  approved  what  was  called  its  "  imperial 
policy,"  —  the  provocation  given  to  Afghanistan, 


PUBLIC  OPINION  193 

and  the  interference  in  the  Russo-Turkish  war 
on  the  side  of  Turkey.  One  heard,  it  was  said, 
nothing  else  in  the  clubs,  the  trains,  the  hotels, 
and  the  colleges.  But  the  result  showed  that 
these  indications  were  of  little  value,  that  the 
judgment  of  the  classes  most  occupied  in  observ- 
ing political  tendencies  was  at  fault,  and  that 
the  bulk  of  the  constituencies  had  apparently 
taken  quite  a  different  view  of  the  whole  matter. 
A  striking  example  of  the  same  thing  was 
afforded  in  the  State  of  New  York  in  1892. 
The  leaders  of  the  Democratic  party  at  that 
time  were  men  of  more  than  usual  astuteness 
and  political  experience.  It  was  of  the  last  im- 
portance to  them  to  learn  the  popular  judgment 
on  the  more  recent  acts  of  the  party,  particularly 
on  the  mode  in  which  it  had  secured  control  of 
the  state  Senate.  Up  to  the  day  of  election  they 
seem  to  have  had  the  utmost  confidence  in  an 
overwhelming  popular  verdict  in  their  favor. 
The  result,  however,  was  their  overwhelming 
defeat.  They  apparently  had  but  a  very  slight 
knowledge  of  the  trend  of  public  opinion.  In 
truth,  it  may  be  said  that  the  great  political  rev- 
olutions wrought  by  elections,  both  in  England 
and  in  America,  have  been  unexpected  by  the 
bulk  of  observers,  either  wholly  or  as  to  their 
extent.  No  change  at  all  was  looked  for,  or  the 
change  was  not  expected  to  be  so  great. 


194  PUBLIC  OPINION 

Why  this  should  be  so,  why  in  a  democratic 
society  people  should  find  so  much  difficulty 
in  discovering  beforehand  what  the  sovereign 
power  is  thinking,  and  what  it  is  going  to  do,  is 
not  so  difficult  to  explain  as  it  seems.  We  must 
first  bear  in  mind  that  the  democratic  societies 
prodigiously  increased  in  size  almost  at  the 
moment  at  which  they  acquired  control  of  the 
State.  There  was  no  previous  opportunity  for 
examining  their  tastes,  prejudices,  weaknesses, 
or  tendencies.  Most  of  the  descriptions  of  de- 
mocracies within  the  present  century,  as  I  have 
already  pointed  out,  have  been  only  guesses,  or 
deductions  from  the  history  of  those  of  anti- 
quity. Nearly  every  modern  writer  on  this  sub- 
ject has  fallen  into  mistakes  about  democratic 
tendencies,  merely  through  a  priori  reasoning. 
Certain  things  had  happened  in  the  ancient  de- 
mocracies, and  were  sure  to  happen  again  in 
the  modern  democracies,  much  as  the  conditions 
had  changed.  Singularly  enough,  the  one  abso- 
lutely new  difficulty,  the  difficulty  of  consulting 
a  modern  democracy,  has  hardly  been  noticed. 
This  difficulty  has  produced  the  boss,  who  is 
a  sufficiently  simple  phenomenon.  But  how, 
without  the  boss,  to  get  at  what  the  people  are 
thinking,  has  not  been  found  out,  though  it  is 
of  great  importance.  We  have  not  yet  hit  on 
the  best  plan  of  getting  at  "  public  opinion." 


PUBLIC  OPINION  195 

Elections,  as  we  have  seen,  are  the  medium 
through  which  this  force  manifests  itself  in 
action,  but  they  do  not  furnish  the  reason  of 
this  action,  the  considerations  which  led  to  it,  or 
a  forecast  of  all  the  consequences  it  is  expected 
to  produce.  Moreover,  at  best  they  tell  us  only 
what  half  the  people  are  thinking  ;  for  no  party 
nowadays  wins  an  electoral  victory  by  much  over 
half  the  voters.  So  that  we  are  driven  back,  for 
purposes  of  observation,  on  the  newspaper  press. 
Our  confidence  in  this  is  based  on  the  theory, 
not  so  much  that  the  newspapers  make  public 
opinion,  as  that  the  opinions  they  utter  are  those 
of  which  their  readers  approve.  But  this  ground 
is  being  made  less  tenable  every  year  by  the  fact 
that  more  and  more  newspapers  rely  on  adver- 
tising, rather  than  on  subscriptions,  for  their 
support  and  profits,  and  agreement  with  their 
readers  is  thus  less  and  less  important  to  them. 
The  old  threat  of  "  stopping  my  paper,"  if  a 
subscriber  came  across  unpalatable  views  in  the 
editorial  columns,  is  therefore  not  so  formidable 
as  it  used  to  be,  and  is  less  resorted  to.  The 
advertiser,  rather  than  the  subscriber,  is  now 
the  newspaper  bogie.  He  is  the  person  before 
whom  the  publisher  cowers  and  whom  he  tries 
to  please,  and  the  advertiser  is  very  indifferent 
about  the  opinions  of  a  newspaper.  What  in- 
terests him  is  the  amount  or  quality  of  its  circu- 


196  PUBLIC  OPINION 

lation.  What  he  wants  to  know  is,  how  many 
and  what  class  of  persons  see  it,  not  how  many 
persons  agree  with  it.  The  consequence  is  that 
the  newspapers  of  largest  circulation,  published 
in  the  great  centres  of  population  where  most 
votes  are  cast,  are  less  and  less  organs  of  opin- 
ion, especially  in  America.  In  fact,  in  some 
cases  the  advertisers  use  their  influence  —  which 
is  great,  and  which  the  increasing  competition 
between  newspapers  makes  all  the  greater  —  to 
prevent  the  expression  in  newspapers  of  what  is 
probably  the  prevailing  local  view  of  men  or 
events.  There  are  not  many  newspapers  which 
can  afford  to  defy  a  large  advertiser. 

Nothing  is  more  striking  in  the  reading  pub- 
lic to-day,  in  our  democracy,  than  the  increasing 
incapacity  for  continuous  attention.  The  power 
of  attention  is  one  that,  just  like  muscular 
power,  needs  cultivation  or  training.  The  abil- 
ity to  listen  to  a  long  argument  or  exposition,  or 
to  read  it,  involves  not  only  strength  but  habit 
in  the  muscles  of  the  eye  or  the  nerves  of  the 
ear.  In  familiar  language,  one  has  to  be  used 
to  it,  to  do  it  easily. 

There  seems  to  be  a  great  deal  of  reason  for 
believing  that  this  habit  is  becoming  much  rarer. 
Publishers  complain  more  and  more  of  the  refu- 
sal of  nearly  every  modern  community  to  read 
books,  except  novels,  which  keep  the  attention 


PUBLIC  OPINION  197 

alive  by  amusing  incidents  and  rapid  changes 
of  situation.  Argumentative  works  can  rarely 
count  on  a  large  circulation.  This  may  doubt- 
less be  ascribed  in  part  to  the  multiplicity  of 
the  objects  of  attention  in  modern  times,  to  the 
opportunities  of  simple  amusement,  to  the  large 
area  of  the  world  which  is  brought  under  each 
man's  observation  by  the  telegraph,  and  to  the 
general  rapidity  of  communication.  But  this 
large  area  is  brought  under  observation  through 
the  newspaper  ;  and  that  the  newspaper's  mode 
of  presenting  facts  does  seriously  affect  the  way 
in  which  people  perform  the  process  called 
"  making  up  their  minds,"  especially  about  pub- 
lic questions,  can  hardly  be  denied.  The  near- 
est approach  we  can  make  to  what  people  are 
thinking  about  any  matter  of  public  interest  is 
undoubtedly  by  "  reading  the  papers."  It  may 
not  be  a  sure  way,  but  there  is  no  other.  It  is 
true,  often  lamentably  true,  that  the  only  idea 
most  foreigners  and  observers  get  of  a  nation's 
modes  of  thought  and  standards  of  duty  and 
excellence,  and  in  short  of  its  manners  and 
morals,  comes  through  reading  its  periodicals. 
To  the  outsider  the  newspaper  press  is  the  na- 
tion talking  about  itself.  Nations  are  known 
to  other  nations  mainly  through  their  press. 
They  used  to  be  known  more  by  their  public 
men ;  but  the  class  of  public  men  who  repre- 


198  PUBLIC  OPINION 

sent  a  country  is  becoming  every  day  smaller, 
and  public  men  speak  less  than  formerly  ;  with 
us  they  can  scarcely  be  said  to  speak  at  all.  Our 
present  system  of  nomination  and  the  loss  of 
the  habit  of  debating  in  the  legislature,  have 
almost  put  an  end  to  oratory,  except  during  ex- 
citing canvasses.  Elsewhere  than  in  England, 
the  names  of  the  leading  men  are  hardly  known 
to  foreigners ;  their  utterances,  not  at  all.  If  I 
want  to  learn  the  drift  of  opinion  in  any  coun- 
try, on  any  topic,  the  best  thing  I  can  do,  there- 
fore, is  to  read  the  papers ;  and  I  must  read  a 
large  number. 

In  America  more  than  in  any  other  country, 
the  collection  of  "  news  "  has  become  a  business 
within  half  a  century,  and  it  has  been  greatly 
promoted  by  the  improvements  in  the  printing- 
press.  Before  this  period,  "  news  "  was  gener- 
ally news  of  great  events,  —  that  is,  of  events 
of  more  than  local  importance  ;  so  that  if  a  man 
were  asked,  "  What  news  ? "  he  would  try,  in 
his  answer,  to  mention  something  of  world-wide 
significance.  But  as  soon  as  the  collection  of 
it  became  a  business,  submitted  to  the  ordinary 
laws  of  competition,  the  number  of  things  that 
were  called  "  news  "  naturally  increased.  Each 
newspaper  endeavored  to  outdo  its  rivals  by  the 
greater  number  of  facts  it  brought  to  the  public 
notice,  and  it  was  not  very  long  before  "  news  " 


PUBLIC  OPINION  199 

became  everything  whatever,  no  matter  how  un- 
important, which  the  reader  had  not  previously 
heard  of.  The  sense  of  proportion  about  news 
was  rapidly  destroyed.  Everything,  however 
trifling,  was  considered  worth  printing,  and  the 
newspaper  finally  became,  what  it  is  now,  a  col- 
lection of  the  gossip,  not  only  of  the  whole  world, 
but  of  its  own  locality.  Now,  gossip,  when 
analyzed,  consists  simply  of  a  collection  of  actual 
facts,  mostly  of  little  moment,  and  also  of  sur- 
mises about  things,  of  equally  little  moment. 
But  business  requires  that  as  much  importance 
as  possible  shall  be  given  to  them  by  the  manner 
of  producing  each  item,  or  what  is  called  "  typo- 
graphical display."  Consequently  they  are  pre- 
sented with  separate  and  conspicuous  headings, 
and  there  is  no  necessary  connection  between 
them.  They  follow  one  another,  column  after 
column,  without  any  order,  either  of  subject  or 
of  chronology. 

The  diligent  newspaper  reader,  therefore,  gets 
accustomed  to  passing  rapidly  from  one  to  an- 
other of  a  series  of  incidents,  small  and  great, 
requiring  simply  the  transfer,  from  one  trifle  to 
another,  of  a  sort  of  lazy,  uninterested  atten- 
tion, which  often  becomes  sub-conscious ;  that 
is,  a  man  reads  with  hardly  any  knowledge  or 
recollection  of  what  he  is  reading.  Not  only 
does  the  attention  become  habituated  to  frequent 


200  PUBLIC  OPINION 

breaches  in  its  continuity,  but  it  grows  accus- 
tomed to  short  paragraphs,  as  one  does  to 
passers-by  in  the  street.  A  man  sees  and  ob- 
serves them,  but  does  not  remember  what  he  sees 
and  observes  for  more  than  a  minute  or  two. 
That  this  should  have  its  effect  on  the  editorial 
writing  is  what  naturally  might  be  expected. 
If  the  editorial  article  is  long,  the  reader,  used 
to  the  short  paragraphs,  is  apt  to  shrink  from 
the  labor  of  perusing  it ;  if  it  is  brief,  he  pays 
little  more  attention  to  it  than  he  pays  to  the 
paragraphs.  When,  therefore,  any  newspaper 
turns  to  serious  discussion  in  its  columns,  it  is 
difficult,  and  one  may  say  increasingly  difficult, 
to  get  a  hearing.  It  has  to  contend  both  against 
the  intellectual  habit  of  its  readers,  which  makes 
prolonged  attention  hard,  and  against  a  priori 
doubts  of  its  honesty  and  competency.  People 
question  whether  it  is  talking  in  good  faith,  or 
has  some  sinister  object  in  view,  knowing  that 
in  one  city  of  the  Union,  at  least,  it  is  impossible 
to  get  published  any  criticism  on  the  larger  ad- 
vertisers, however  nefarious  their  doings  ;  know- 
ing also  that  in  another  city  there  have  been 
rapid  changes  of  journalistic  views,  made  for 
party  purposes  or  through  simple  changes  of 
ownership. 

The   result   is  that  the  effect  of   newspaper 
editorial  writing  on  opinion  is  small,  so  far  as 


PUBLIC  OPINION  201 

one  can  judge.  Still,  it  would  be  undeniably 
large  enough  to  possess  immense  power  if  the 
press  acted  unanimously  as  a  body.  If  all  the 
papers,  or  a  great  majority  of  them,  said  the  same 
thing  on  any  question  of  the  day,  or  told  the 
same  story  about  any  matter  in  dispute,  they 
would  undoubtedly  possess  great  influence.  But 
they  are  much  divided,  partly  by  political  affilia- 
tion, and  partly,  perhaps  mainly,  by  business 
rivalry.  For  business  purposes,  each  is  apt  to 
think  it  necessary  to  differ  in  some  degree  from 
its  nearest  rivals,  whether  of  the  same  party  or 
not,  in  its  view  of  most  questions,  or  at  all  events 
not  to  support  a  rival's  view,  or  totally  to  ignore 
something  to  which  the  rival  is  attaching  great 
importance.  The  result  is  that  the  press  rarely 
acts  with  united  force,  or  expresses  a  united 
opinion.  Nor  do  many  readers  subscribe  to  more 
than  one  paper;  and  consequently  few  readers 
have  any  knowledge  of  the  other  side  of  any 
question  on  which  their  own  paper  is,  possibly, 
preaching  with  vehemence.  The  great  importance 
which  many  persons  attach  to  having  a  news- 
paper of  large  circulation  on  their  side  is  due 
in  some  degree  to  its  power  in  the  presentation 
of  facts  to  the  public,  and  also  to  its  power  of 
annoyance  by  persistent  abuse  or  ridicule. 

Another   agency  which    has   interfered   with 
the  press  as  an  organ  of  opinion  is  the  greatly 


202  PUBLIC   OPINION 

increased  expense  of  starting  or  carrying  on  a 
modern  newspaper.  The  days  when  Horace 
Greeley  or  William  Lloyd  Garrison  could  start 
an  influential  paper  in  a  small  printing-office, 
with  the  assistance  of  a  boy,  are  gone  forever. 
Few  undertakings  require  more  capital,  or  are 
more  hazardous.  The  most  serious  item  of  ex- 
pense is  the  collection  of  news  from  all  parts  of 
the  world,  and  this  cannot  be  evaded  in  our  day. 
News  is  the  life-blood  of  the  modern  newspaper. 
No  talent  or  energy  will  make  up  for  its  ab- 
sence. The  consequence  is  that  a  very  large 
sum  is  needed  to  establish  a  newspaper.  After 
it  is  started,  a  large  sum  must  be  spent  without 
visible  return,  but  the  fortune  that  may  be  ac- 
cumulated by  it,  if  successful,  is  also  very  large. 
One  of  the  most  curious  things  about  it  is  that 
the  public  does  not  expect  from  a  newspaper 
proprietor  the  same  sort  of  morality  that  it  ex- 
pects from  persons  in  other  callings.  It  would 
disown  a  bookseller  and  cease  all  intercourse  with 
him  for  a  tithe  of  the  falsehoods  and  petty 
frauds  which  it  passes  unnoticed  in  a  newspaper 
proprietor.  It  may  disbelieve  every  word  he 
says,  and  yet  profess  to  respect  him,  and  may 
occasionally  reward  him ;  so  that  it  is  quite  pos- 
sible to  find  a  newspaper  which  nearly  everybody 
condemns,  and  whose  influence  most  men  would 
repudiate,  circulating  very  freely  even  among 


PUBLIC  OPINION  203 

religious  and  moral  people,  and  making  hand- 
some profits.  A  newspaper  proprietor,  therefore, 
who  finds  that  his  profits  remain  high,  no  matter 
what  views  he  promulgates  and  what  kind  of  mo- 
rality he  practices,  can  hardly,  with  fairness  to 
the  community,  be  treated  as  an  exponent  of  its 
opinions.  He  will  not  consider  what  it  thinks, 
when  he  finds  he  has  only  to  consider  what  it 
will  buy,  and  that  it  will  buy  his  paper  without 
agreeing  with  it. 

But  it  is  as  an  exponent  of  the  nation's  feel- 
ing about  other  nations  that  the  press  is  most 
defective.  The  old  diplomacy,  in  which,  as 
Disraeli  said,  "  sovereigns  .and  statesmen"  regu- 
lated international  affairs  in  secret  conclave  in 
gorgeous  salons,  has  all  but  passed  away.  The 
"  sovereigns  and  statesmen  "  and  the  secret  con- 
clave and  the  gorgeous  salons  remain,  but  of 
the  old  indifference  to  what  the  world  outside 
thought  of  their  work,  not  very  much  remains. 
Now  and  then  a  king  or  an  emperor  gratifies  his 
personal  spites,  in  his  instructions  to  his  diplo- 
matic representatives,  like  the  Emperor  of  Ger- 
many in  the  case  of  the  unfortunate  Greeks ; 
but  most  governments,  in  their  negotiations  with 
foreign  powers,  now  listen  closely  to  the  voice 
of  their  own  people.  The  democracy  sits  at 
every  council  board,  and  the  most  conservative 
of  ministers,  consciously  or  unconsciously,  con- 


204  PUBLIC  OPINION 

suits  it  as  well  as  he  can.  He  tries  to  find  out 
what  it  wishes  in  any  particular  matter,  or,  if 
this  be  impossible,  he  tries  to  find  out  what  will 
most  impress  its  imagination.  Whether  he 
brings  peace  or  war,  he  tries  to  make  it  appear 
that  the  national  honor  has  been  carefully  looked 
after,  and  that  the  national  desires,  and  even  the 
national  weaknesses,  have  been  considered  and 
provided  for.  But  it  is  from  the  press  that  he 
must  learn  all  this ;  and  it  is  from  the  press,  too, 
that  each  diplomatist  must  learn  whether  his 
opponent's  country  is  really  behind  him.  The 
press  is  never  silent,  and  it  has  the  field  to  itself; 
any  one  who  wishes  to  know  what  the  people 
are  feeling  and  thinking  has  to  rely  on  it  for  the 
want  of  anything  better. 

In  international  questions,  however,  the  press 
is  often  a  poor  reliance.  In  the  first  place, 
business  prudence  prompts  an  editor,  whether 
he  fully  understands  the  matter  under  discussion 
or  not,  to  take  what  seems  the  patriotic  view ; 
and  tradition  generally  makes  the  selfish,  quar- 
relsome view  the  patriotic  view.  The  late  editor 
of  the  "  Sun  "  expressed  this  tersely  by  advising 
young  journalists  "  always  to  stand  by  the  Stars 
and  Stripes."  It  was  long  ago  expressed  still 
more  tersely  by  the  cry,  "  Our  country,  right 
or  wrong !  "  All  first-class  Powers  still  live 
more  or  less  openly,  in  their  relations  with  one 


PUBLIC  OPINION  205 

another,  under  the  old  dueling  code,  which  the 
enormous  armaments  in  modern  times  render 
almost  a  necessity.  Under  this  code  the  one 
unbearable  imputation  is  fear  of  somebody. 
Any  other  imputation  a  nation  supports  with 
comparative  meekness;  the  charge  of  timidity 
is  intolerable.  It  has  been  made  more  so  by 
the  conversion  of  most  modern  nations  into 
great  standing  armies,  and  no  great  standing 
army  can  for  a  moment  allow  the  world  to  doubt 
its  readiness,  and  even  eagerness,  to  fight.  It 
is  not  every  diplomatic  difference  that  is  at  first 
clearly  understood  by  the  public.  Very  often 
the  pros  and  cons  of  the  matter  are  imperfectly 
known  until  the  correspondence  is  published, 
but  the  agitation  of  the  popular  mind  continues ; 
the  press  must  talk  about  the  matter,  and  its 
talk  is  rarely  pacific.  It  is  bound  by  tradition 
to  take  the  ground  that  its  own  government  is 
right ;  and  that  even  if  it  is  not,  it  does  not 
make  any  difference,  —  the  press  has  to  maintain 
that  it  is  right. 

The  action  of  Congress  on  the  recent  Vene- 
zuelan complication  well  illustrated  the  position 
of  the  press  in  such  matters.  When  Mr.  Cleve- 
land sent  his  message  asking  Congress  to  vote 
the  expense  of  tracing  the  frontier  of  a  foreign 
power,  Congress  knew  nothing  of  the  merits  of 
the  case.  It  did  not  even  know  that  any  such 


206  PUBLIC  OPINION 

controversy  was  pending.  As  the  message  was 
distinctly  one  that  might  lead  to  war,  and  as 
Congress  was  the  war-making  power,  the  Consti- 
tution presumptively  imposed  on  it  the  duty  of 
examining  the  causes  of  the  dispute  thoroughly, 
before  complying  with  the  President's  request. 
In  most  other  affairs,  too,  it  would  have  been 
the  more  disposed  to  discharge  this  duty,  because 
the  majority  was  hostile  to  Mr.  Cleveland.  But 
any  delay  or  hesitation,  it  feared,  would  be  con- 
strued by  the  public  as  a  symptom  of  fear  or 
of  want  of  patriotism,  so  it  instantly  voted  the 
money  without  any  examination  whatever.  The 
press  was  in  an  almost  similar  condition.  It 
knew  no  more  of  the  merits  of  the  case  than 
Congress,  and  it  had  the  same  fear  of  being 
thought  wanting  in  patriotism,  so  that  the  whole 
country  in  twenty-four  hours  resounded  with 
rhetorical  preparation  for,  and  justification  of, 
war  with  England. 

As  long  as  this  support  is  confined  to  argumen- 
tation, no  great  harm  is  done.  The  diplomatists 
generally  care  but  little  about  the  dialectical 
backing  up  that  they  get  from  the  newspapers. 
Either  they  do  not  need  it,  or  it  is  too  iU  in- 
formed to  do  them  much  good.  But  the  news- 
papers have  another  concern  than  mere  victory 
in  argument.  They  have  to  maintain  their  place 
in  the  estimation  of  their  readers,  and,  if  pos- 


PUBLIC  OPINION  207 

sible,  to  increase  the  number  of  these  readers. 
Unhappily,  in  times  of  international  trouble,  the 
easiest  way  to  do  this  always  seems  to  be  to 
influence  the  public  mind  against  the  foreigner. 
This  is  done  partly  by  impugning  his  motives  in 
the  matter  in  hand,  and  partly  by  painting  his 
general  character  in  an  odious  light.  Undoubt- 
edly this  produces  some  effect  on  the  public 
mind  by  begetting  a  readiness  to  punish  in  arms, 
at  any  cost,  so  unworthy  an  adversary.  The 
worst  effect,  however,  is  that  which  is  produced 
on  the  ministers  conducting  the  negotiations.  It 
frightens  or  encourages  them  into  taking  ex- 
treme positions,  in  putting  forward  impossible 
claims,  or  in  perverting  history  and  law  to  help 
their  case.  The  applause  and  support  of  the 
newspapers  seem  to  be  public  opinion.  They 
bring  honor  at  home,  no  matter  how  the  con- 
troversy ends.  In  short,  it  may  be  said,  as  a 
matter  of  history,  that  in  few  diplomatic  contro- 
versies in  this  century  has  the  press  failed  to 
make  moderate  ground  difficult  for  a  diploma- 
tist, and  retreats  from  untenable  positions  almost 
impossible.  The  press  makes  his  case  seem  so 
good,  that  abandonment  of  it  looks  like  treason 
to  his  country. 

Then  there  is  another  aspect  of  the  case  which 
cannot  be  passed  without  notice,  though  it  puts 
the  press  in  a  less  honorable  light.  Newspapers 


208  PUBLIC  OPINION 

are  made  to  sell ;  and  for  this  purpose  there  is 
nothing  better  than  war.  War  means  daily  sen- 
sation and  excitement.  On  this  almost  any  kind 
of  newspaper  may  live  and  make  money.  Whether 
the  war  brings  victory  or  defeat  makes  little  dif- 
ference. The  important  thing  is  that  in  war 
every  moment  may  bring  important  and  exciting 
news, — news  which  does  not  need  to  be  accurate 
or  to  bear  sifting.  What  makes  it  most  market- 
able is  that  it  is  probable  and  agreeable,  although 
disagreeable  news  sells  nearly  as  well.  In  the 
tumult  of  a  great  war,  when  the  rules  of  evi- 
dence are  suspended  by  passion  or  anxiety,  inven- 
tion, too,  is  easy,  and  has  its  value,  and  is  pretty 
sure  never  to  be  punished.  Some  newspapers, 
which  found  it  difficult  to  make  a  livelihood  in 
times  of  peace,  made  fortunes  in  our  last  war; 
and  it  may  be  said  that,  as  a  rule,  troublous  times 
are  the  best  for  a  newspaper  proprietor. 

It  follows  from  this,  it  cannot  but  follow, 
that  it  is  only  human  for  a  newspaper  proprietor 
to  desire  war,  especially  when  he  feels  sure  that 
his  own  country  is  right,  and  that  its  opponents 
are  enemies  of  civilization,  —  a  state  of  mind 
into  which  a  man  may  easily  work  himself  by 
writing  and  talking  much  during  an  interna- 
tional controversy.  So  that  I  do  not  think  it  an 
exaggeration  or  a  calumny  to  say  that  the  press, 
taken  as  a  whole,  —  of  course  with  many  honor- 


PUBLIC   OPINION  209 

able  exceptions,  —  has  a  bias  in  favor  of  war. 
It  would  not  stir  up  a  war  with  any  country,  but 
if  it  sees  preparations  made  to  fight,  it  does  not 
fail  to  encourage  the  combatants.  This  is  par- 
ticularly true  of  a  naval  war,  which  is  much  more 
striking  as  a  spectacle  than  a  land  war,  while  it 
does  not  disturb  industry  or  distribute  personal 
risk,  to  nearly  the  same  extent. 

Of  much  more  importance,  however,  than  the 
manner  in  which  public  opinion  finds  expression 
in  a  democracy  is  the  manner  in  which  it  is 
formed,  and  this  is  very  much  harder  to  get  at. 
I  do  not  mean  what  may  be  called  people's  stand- 
ing opinion  about  things  in  general,  which  is 
born  of  hereditary  prejudice,  and  works  itself 
into  the  manners  of  the  country  as  part  of  each 
individual's  moral  and  intellectual  outfit.  There 
is  a  whole  batch  of  notions  about  things  public 
and  private,  which  men  of  every  nation  hold  be- 
cause they  are  national,  —  once  called  "  Roman  " 
by  a  Roman,  now  "  English  "  by  an  Englishman, 
and  "  American  "  by  an  American,  —  and  which 
are  defended  or  propagated  simply  by  calling 
the  opposite  "un-English"  or  "un-American." 
These  views  come  to  people  by  descent.  They 
are  inherited  rather  than  formed.  What  I  have 
in  mind  is  the  opinions  formed  by  the  community 
about  new  subjects,  questions  of  legislation  and 
of  war  and  peace,  and  about  social  needs  or  sins 


210  PUBLIC  OPINION 

or  excesses,  —  in  short,  about  anything  novel, 
which  calls  imperatively  for  an  immediate  judg- 
ment of  some  kind.  What  is  it  that  moves  large 
bodies  or  parties  in  a  democracy  like  ours,  for 
instance,  to  say  that  its  government  should  do 
this,  or  should  not  do  that,  in  any  matter  that 
may  happen  to  be  before  them? 

Nothing  can  be  more  difficult  than  an  answer 
to  this  question.  Every  writer  about  democracy, 
from  Montesquieu  down,  has  tried  to  answer  it 
by  ct,  priori  predictions  as  to  what  democracy  will 
say,  or  do,  or  think,  under  certain  given  circum- 
stances. The  uniform  failure  naturally  suggests 
the  conclusion  that  the  question  is  not  answer- 
able at  all,  owing  largely  to  the  enormously 
increased  number  of  influences  under  which  all 
men  act  in  the  modern  world.  It  is  now  very 
rare  to  meet  with  one  of  the  distinctly  defined 
characters  which  education,  conducted  under  the 
regime  of  authority,  used  to  form,  down  to  the 
close  of  the  last  century.  There  are  really  no 
more  "  divines,"  or  "  gentlemen,"  or  "  Puritans," 
or  "John  Bulls,"  or  "Brother  Jonathans."  In 
other  words,  there  are  no  more  moral  or  intel- 
lectual moulds.  It  used  to  be  easy  to  say  how 
a  given  individual  or  community  would  look  at  a 
thing ;  at  present  it  is  well-nigh  impossible.  We 
can  hardly  tell  what  agency  is  exercising  the 
strongest  influence  on  popular  thought  on  any 


PUBLIC  OPINION  211 

given  occasion.  Most  localities  and  classes  are 
subject  to  some  peculiar  dominating  force,  but  if 
you  discover  what  it  is,  you  discover  it  almost  by 
accident.  One  of  the  latest  attempts  to  define  a 
moral  force  that  would  be  sure  to  act  on  opinion 
was  the  introduction  into  the  political  arena  in 
England  of  the  "  Nonconformist  conscience,"  or 
the  moral  training  of  the  dissenting  denomina- 
tions,—  Congregationalists,  Methodists,  and  Bap- 
tists. In  the  discussion  of  Irish  home  rule  and 
various  cognate  matters,  much  use  has  been  made 
of  the  term,  but  it  is  difficult  to  point  to  any 
particular  occasion  in  which  the  thing  has  dis- 
tinctly made  itself  felt.  One  would  have  said, 
twenty  years  ago,  that  the  English  class  of  coun- 
try squires  would  be  the  last  body  in  the  world, 
owing  to  temperament  and  training,  to  approve 
of  any  change  in  the  English  currency.  We  be- 
lieve they  are  to-day  largely  bimetallists.  The 
reason  is  that  their  present  liabilities,  contracted 
in  good  times,  have  been  made  increasingly 
heavy  by  the  fall  in  agricultural  produce. 

The  same  phenomena  are  visible  here  in  Amer- 
ica. It  would  be  difficult  to-day  to  say  what  is 
the  American  opinion,  properly  so  called,  about 
the  marriage  bond.  One  would  think  that  in 
the  older  states,  in  which  social  life  is  more  set- 
tled, it  would  strongly  favor  indissolubility,  or, 
at  all  events,  great  difficulty  of  dissolution.  But 


212  PUBLIC  OPINION 

this  is  not  the  case.  In  Connecticut  and  Rhode 
Island  divorce  is  as  easy,  and  almost  as  little 
disreputable,  as  in  any  of  the  newer  Western 
states.  In  the  discussion  on  the  currency,  most 
observers  would  have  predicted  that  the  power 
of  the  government  over  its  value  would  be  most 
eagerly  preached  by  the  states  in  which  the 
number  of  foreign  voters  was  greatest.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  these  states  proved  at  the  elec- 
tion to  be  the  firmest  friends  of  the  gold  stand- 
ard. Within  our  own  lifetime  the  Southern 
or  cotton  states,  from  being  very  conservative, 
have  become  very  radical,  in  the  sense  of  being 
ready  to  give  ear  to  new  ideas.  What  we  might 
have  said  of  them  in  1860  would  be  singularly 
untrue  in  1900.  One  might  go  over  the  civil- 
ized world  in  this  way,  and  find  that  the  public 
opinion  of  each  country,  on  any  given  topic,  had 
escaped  from  the  philosophers,  so  to  speak,  — 
that  all  generalizing  about  it  had  become  diffi- 
cult, and  that  it  was  no  longer  possible  to  divide 
influences  into  categories. 

The  conclusion  most  readily  reached  about 
the  whole  matter  is  that  authority,  whether  in 
religion  or  in  morals,  which  down  to  the  last 
century  was  so  powerful,  has  ceased  to  exert 
much  influence  on  the  affairs",  of  the  modern 
world,  and  that  any  attempt  to  mould  opinion 
on  religious  or  moral  or  political  questions,  by 


PUBLIC  OPINION  213 

its  instrumentality,  is  almost  certain  to  prove 
futile.  The  reliance  of  the  older  political 
writers,  from  Grotius  to  Locke,  on  the  sayings 
of  other  previous  writers  or  on  the  Bible,  is  now 
among  the  curiosities  of  literature.  Utilitarian- 
ism, however  we  may  feel  about  it,  has  fully 
taken  possession  of  political  discussion.  That  is 
to  say,  any  writer  or  speaker  on  political  subjects 
has  to  show  that  his  proposition  will  make  peo- 
ple more  comfortable  or  richer.  This  is  tanta- 
mount to  saying  that  historic  experience  has  not 
nearly  the  influence  on  political  affairs  it  once 
had.  The  reason  is  obvious.  The  number  of 
persons  who  have  something  to  say  about  politi- 
cal affairs  has  increased  a  thousandfold,  but  the 
practice  of  reading  books  has  not  increased,  and 
it  is  in  books  that  experience  is  recorded.  In 
the  past,  the  governing  class,  in  part  at  least, 
was  a  reading  class.  One  of  the  reasons  which 
are  generally  said  to  have  given  the  Southern 
members  special  influence  in  Congress  before  the 
war  is  that  they  read  books,  had  libraries,  and 
had  wide  knowledge  of  the  experiments  tried  by 
earlier  generations  of  mankind.  Their  succes- 
sors rarely  read  anything  but  the  newspapers. 
This  is  increasingly  true,  also,  of  other  de- 
mocratic countries.  The  old  literary  type  of 
statesmen,  of  which  Jefferson  and  Madison  and 
Hamilton,  Guizot  and  Thiers,  were  examples, 


214  PUBLIC  OPINION 

is  rapidly  disappearing,  if  it  has  not  already  dis- 
appeared. 

The  importance  of  this  in  certain  branches 
of  public  affairs  is  great,  —  the  management 
of  currency,  for  example.  All  we  know  about 
currency  we  learn  from  the  experience  of  the 
human  race.  What  man  will  do  about  any  kind 
of  money,  —  gold,  silver,  or  paper,  —  under  any 
given  set  of  conditions,  we  can  predict  only 
by  reading  of  what  man  has  done.  What  will 
happen,  if,  of  two  kinds  of  currency,  we  lower 
or  raise  the  value  of  one,  what  will  happen  if 
we  issue  too  much  irredeemable  paper,  why  we 
must  make  our  paper  redeemable,  what  are  the 
dangers  of  violent  and  sudden  changes  in  the 
standard  of  value,  are  all  things  which  we  can 
ascertain  only  from  the  history  of  money. 
What  any  man  now  thinks  or  desires  about  the 
matter  is  of  little  consequence  compared  with 
what  men  in  times  past  have  tried  to  do.  The 
loss  of  influence  or  weight  by  the  reading  class 
is  therefore  of  great  importance,  for  to  this  loss 
we  undoubtedly  owe  most  of  the  prevalent  wild 
theories  about  currency.  They  are  the  theories 
of  men  who  do  not  know  that  their  experiments 
have  been  tried  already  and  have  failed.  In 
fact,  I  may  almost  venture  the  assertion  that  the 
influence  of  history  on  politics  was  never  smaller 
than  it  is  to-day,  although  history  was  never 


PUBLIC  OPINION  215 

before  cultivated  with  so  much  acumen  and  in- 
dustry. So  that  authority  and  experience  may 
fairly  be  ruled  out  of  the  list  of  forces  which 
seriously  influence  the  government  of  democratic 
societies.  In  the  formation  of  public  opinion 
they  do  not  greatly  count. 

The  effect  of  all  this  is  not  simply  to  lead  to 
hasty  legislation.  It  also  has  an  injurious  effect 
on  legislative  decision,  in  making  every  question 
seem  an  "  open  "  or  "  large  "  question.  As 
nothing,  or  next  to  nothing,  is  settled,  all  prob- 
lems of  politics  have  a  tendency  to  seem  new  to 
every  voter,  —  matters  of  which  each  man  is  as 
good  a  judge  as  another,  and  as  much  entitled 
to  his  own  opinion.  He  is  likely  to  consider  him- 
self under  no  special  obligation  to  agree  with 
anybody  else.  The  only  obligation  he  feels  is 
that  of  party,  and  this  is  imposed  to  secure  vic- 
tories at  the  polls,  rather  than  to  insure  any  par- 
ticular kind  of  legislation.  For  instance,  a  man 
may  be  a  civil  service  reformer  when  the  party 
takes  no  action  about  it,  or  a  gold  man  when 
the  party  rather  favors  silver,  or  a  free-trader 
when  the  party  advocates  high  tariff,  and  yet  be 
a  good  party  man  as  long  as  he  votes  the  ticket. 
He  may  question  all  the  opinions  in  its  platform, 
but  if  he  thinks  it  is  the  best  party  to  administer 
the  government  or  distribute  the  offices,  he  may 
and  does  remain  in  it  with  perfect  comfort.  In 


216  PUBLIC  OPINION 

short,  party  discipline  does  not  insure  uniform- 
ity of  opinion,  but  simply  uniformity  of  action 
at  election.  The  platform  is  not  held  to  impose 
any  line  of  action  on  the  voters.  Neither  party 
in  America  to-day  has  any  fixed  creed.  Every 
voter  believes  what  is  good  in  his  own  eyes,  and 
may  do  so  with  impunity,  without  loss  of  party 
standing,  as  long  as  he  votes  for  the  party  nomi- 
nee at  every  important  election. 

The  pursuit  of  any  policy  in  legislation  is 
thus,  undoubtedly,  more  difficult  than  of  old. 
The  phrase,  well  known  to  lawyers,  that  a  thing 
is  "  against  public  policy,"  has  by  no  means  the 
same  meaning  now  that  it  once  had,  for  it  is 
very  difficult  to  say  what  "  public  policy  "  is. 
National  policy  is  something  which  has  to  be 
committed  to  the  custody  of  a  few  men  who 
respect  tradition  and  are  familiar  with  records. 
A  large  assembly  which  is  not  dominated  by 
a  leader,  and  in  which  each  member  thinks  he 
knows  as  much  as  any  other  member,  and  does 
not  study  or  respect  records,  can  hardly  follow  a 
policy  without  a  good  deal  of  difficulty.  The 
disappearance  from  the  governments  of  the 
United  States,  France,  and  Italy  of  commanding 
figures,  whose  authority  or  character  imposed  on 
minor  men,  accordingly  makes  it  hard  to  say 
what  is  the  policy  of  these  three  countries  on 
most  questions.  Ministers  who  do  not  carry 


PUBLIC  OPINION  217 

personal  weight  always  seek  to  fortify  themselves 
by  the  conciliation  of  voters,  and  what  will  con- 
ciliate voters  is,  under  every  democratic  regime, 
a  matter  of  increasing  uncertainty,  so  free  is  the 
play  of  individual  opinion. 

Of  this,  again,  the  condition  of  our  currency 
question  at  this  moment  is  a  good  illustration. 
Twenty-five  years  ago,  the  custody  and  regula- 
tion of  the  standard  of  value,  like  the  custody 
and  regulation  of  the  standard  of  length  or  of 
weight,  were  confided  to  experts,  without  objec- 
tion in  any  quarter.  There  was  no  more  thought 
of  disputing  with  these  experts  about  it  than  of 
disputing  with  mathematicians  or  astronomers 
about  problems  in  their  respective  sciences.  It 
was  not  thought  that  there  could  be  a  "  public 
opinion"  about  the  comparative  merits  of  the 
metals  as  mediums  of  exchange,  any  more  than 
about  the  qualities  of  triangles  or  the  position 
of  stars.  The  experts  met  now  and  then,  in 
private  conclave,  and  decided,  without  criticism 
from  any  one  else,  whether  silver  or  gold  should 
be  the  legal  tender.  All  the  public  asked  was 
that  the  standard,  whatever  it  was,  should  be  the 
steadiest  possible,  the  least  liable  to  fluctuations 
or  variations. 

With  the  growing  strength  of  the  democratic 
regime  all  this  has  been  changed.  The  standard 
of  value,  like  nearly  everything  else  about  which 


218  PUBLIC  OPINION 

men  are  concerned,  has  descended  into  the  polit- 
ical arena.  Every  man  claims  the  right  to  have 
an  opinion  about  it,  as  good  as  that  of  any  other 
man.  More  than  this,  nearly  every  man  is  eager 
to  get  this  opinion  embodied  in  legislation  if  he 
can.  Nobody  is  listened  to  by  all  as  an  author- 
ity on  the  subject.  The  most  eminent  finan- 
ciers find  their  views  exposed  to  nearly  as  much 
question  as  those  of  any  tyro.  The  idea  that 
money  should  be  a  standard  of  value,  as  good 
as  the  nature  of  value  will  permit,  has  almost 
disappeared.  Money  has  become  a  means  in 
the  hands  of  governments  of  alleviating  human 
misery,  of  lightening  the  burdens  of  unfortu- 
nate debtors,  and  of  stimulating  industry.  On 
the  best  mode  of  doing  these  things,  every  man 
thinks  he  is  entitled  to  his  say.  The  result  is 
that  we  find  ourselves,  in  the  presence  of  one 
of  the  most  serious  financial  problems  which  has 
ever  confronted  any  nation,  without  a  financial 
leader.  The  finances  of  the  Revolution  had 
Alexander  Hamilton,  and  subsequently  Albert 
Gallatin.  The  finances  of  the  civil  war  had  first 
Secretary  Chase,  and  subsequently  Senator  Sher- 
man, both  of  whom  brought  us  to  some  sort  of 
conclusion,  if  not  always  to  the  right  conclusion, 
by  sheer  weight  of  authority.  To  Senator  Sher- 
man we  were  mainly  indebted  for  the  return  to 
specie  payment  in  1879.  At  present  we  have 


PUBLIC  OPINION  219 

no  one  who  fills  the  places  of  these  men  in  the 
public  eye.  No  one  assumes  to  lead  in  this  cri- 
sis, though  many  give  good  as  well  as  bad  ad- 
vice; but  all,  or  nearly  all,  who  advise,  advise 
as  politicians,  not  as  financiers.  Very  few  who 
speak  on  the  subject  say  publicly  the  things  they 
say  in  private.  Their  public  deliverances  are 
modified  or  toned  down  to  suit  some  part  of  the 
country,  or  some  set  or  division  of  voters.  They 
are  what  is  called  "politically  wise."  During 
the  twenty  years  following  the  change  in  the 
currency  in  1873  no  leading  man  in  either  party 
disputed  the  assertions  of  the  advocates  of  silver 
as  to  the  superiority  of  silver  to  gold  as  a  stand- 
ard of  value.  Nearly  all  politicians,  even  of  the 
Republican  party,  admitted  the  force  of  some 
of  the  contentions  of  those  advocates,  and  were 
willing  to  meet  them  halfway,  by  some  such  mea- 
sure as  the  purchase  of  silver  under  the  Sherman 
Act.  The  result  was  that  when  Mr.  Bryan  was 
nominated  on  a  silver  platform,  his  followers 
attacked  the  gold  standard  with  weapons  drawn 
from  the  armory  of  the  gold  men,  and  nearly 
every  public  man  of  prominence  was  estopped 
from  vigorous  opposition  to  them  by  his  own 
utterances  on  the  same  subject. 

It  is  easy  to  see  that  under  circumstances  like 
these  a  policy  about  finance  —  the  most  impor- 
tant matter  in  which  a  nation  can  have  a  policy 


220  PUBLIC  OPINION 

—  is  hardly  possible.  There  are  too  many  opin- 
ions in  the  field  for  the  formation  of  anything 
that  can  be  called  public  opinion.  And  yet,  I 
cannot  recall  any  case  in  history,  or,  in  other 
words,  in  human  experience,  in  which  a  great 
scheme  of  financial  reform  was  carried  through 
without  having  some  man  of  force  or  weight 
behind  it,  some  man  who  had  framed  it,  who 
understood  it,  who  could  answer  objections  to  it, 
and  who  was  not  obliged  to  alter  or  curtail  it 
against  his  better  judgment.  The  great  finan- 
ciers stand  out  in  bold  relief  in  the  financial 
chronicles  of  every  nation.  They  may  have  been 
wrong,  they  may  have  made  mistakes,  but  they 
spoke  imperiously  and  carried  their  point,  what- 
ever it  was. 

Whether  the  disposition  to  do  without  them, 
and  to  control  money  through  popular  opinion, 
which  seems  now  to  have  taken  possession  of  the 
democratic  world,  will  last,  or  whether  it  will  be 
abandoned  after  trial,  remains  to  be  seen.  But 
one  is  not  a  rash  prophet  who  predicts  that  it 
will  fail.  Finance  is  too  full  of  details,  of  un- 
foreseen effects,  of  technical  conditions,  to  make 
the  mastery  of  it  possible,  without  much  study 
and  experience.  There  is  no  problem  of  gov- 
ernment which  comes  so  near  being  strictly  "  sci- 
entific," that  is,  so  dependent  on  principles  of 
human  nature  and  so  little  dependent  on  legisla- 


PUBLIC  OPINION  221 

tive  power.  No  government  can  completely  con- 
trol the  medium  of  exchange.  It  is  a  subject  for 
psychology  rather  than  for  politics.  Democracy 
has  apparently  been  taken  possession  of  by  the 
idea,  either  that  a  perfect  standard  of  value  may 
be  contrived,  or  that  the  standard  of  value  may 
be  made  a  philanthropic  instrument.  But  in 
view  of  the  incessant  and  rapid  change  of  cost 
of  production  which  everything  undergoes  in 
this  age  of  invention  and  discovery,  gold  and 
silver  included,  the  idea  of  a  perfect  standard  of 
value  must  be  set  down  as  a  chimera.  Every 
one  acknowledges  this.  What  some  men  main- 
tain is  that  the  effects  of  invention  and  discovery 
may  be  counteracted  by  law  and  even  by  treaty, 
which  is  simply  an  assertion  that  parliaments 
and  congresses  and  diplomatists  can  determine 
what  each  man  shall  give  for  everything  he 
buys.  This  proposition  hardly  needs  more  than 
a  statement  of  it  for  its  refutation.  It  is  prob- 
ably the  most  unexpected  of  all  the  manifesta- 
tions of  democratic  feeling  yet  produced.  For 
behind  all  proposals  to  give  currency  a  legal 
value  differing  from  the  value  of  the  market- 
place lies  a  belief  in  the  strength  of  law  such 
as  the  world  has  never  yet  seen.  All  previous 
regimes  have  believed  in  the  power  of  law  to 
enforce  physical  obedience,  and  to  say  what  shall 
constitute  the  legal  payment  of  a  debt,  but  never 


222  PUBLIC  OPINION 

until  now  has  it  been  maintained  that  govern- 
ment can  create  the  standard  of  value,  that  is, 
create  in  each  head  the  amount  of  desire  which 
fixes  the  price  of  a  commodity. 

In  short,  the  one  thing  which  can  be  said  with 
most  certainty  about  democratic  public  opinion 
in  the  modern  world  is  that  it  is  moulded  as 
never  before  by  economic,  rather  than  by  reli- 
gious, or  moral,  or  political  considerations.  The 
influences  which  governed  the  world  down  to  the 
close  of  the  seventeenth  century  were  respect  for 
a  reigning  family,  or  belief  in  a  certain  form  of 
religious  worship  and  horror  of  others,  or  na- 
tional pride  and  corresponding  dislike  or  distrust 
of  foreigners,  or  commercial  rivalry.  It  is  only 
the  last  which  has  now  much  influence  on  public 
opinion  or  in  legislation.  There  is  not  much 
respect,  that  can  be  called  a  political  force,  left 
for  any  reigning  family.  There  is  a  general  in- 
difference to  all  forms  of  religious  worship,  or  at 
least  sufficient  indifference  to  prevent  strong  or 
combative  attachment  to  them.  Religious  wars 
are  no  longer  possible ;  the  desire  to  spread  any 
form  of  faith  by  force  of  arms,  which  so  power- 
fully influenced  the  politics  of  the  sixteenth 
and  seventeenth  centuries,  has  completely  disap- 
peared. It  is  only  in  Spain  and  in  Turkey  that 
this  feeling  can  now  be  said  to  exist  as  a  power 
in  the  state. 


PUBLIC   OPINION  223 

The  growth  of  indifference  to  what  used  to  be 
called  political  liberty,  too,  has  been  curiously 
rapid.  Political  liberty,  as  the  term  was  under- 
stood at  the  beginning  of  this  century,  was  the 
power  of  having  something  to  say  in  the  election 
of  ah1  officers  of  the  state,  and  through  them  of 
influencing  legislation  and  administration  ;  or, 
in  other  words,  of  enforcing  strict  responsibility 
for  its  acts  on  the  part  of  the  governing  body 
towards  the  people.  There  is  apparently  much 
less  importance  attached  to  this  now  than  for- 
merly, as  is  shown  by  the  surrender  of  the  power 
of  nomination  to  "  the  bosses "  in  so  many 
states ;  and  in  New  York  by  the  growing  readi- 
ness to  pass  legislation  without  debate  under 
direction  from  the  outside.  Similarly,  socialism, 
which  seems  to  be  the  political  creed  which  has 
strongest  hold  on  the  working  classes  to-day,  is 
essentially  a  form  of  domination  over  the  whole 
individual  by  the  constituted  authorities,  with- 
out consulting  him.  The  only  choice  left  him  is 
one  of  an  occupation,  and  of  the  kind  of  food  he 
will  eat  and  the  kind  of  clothes  he  will  wear. 
As  there  is  to  be  no  war,  no  money,  no  idleness, 
and  no  taxation,  there  will  be  no  politics,  and 
consequently  no  discussion.  In  truth,  the  num- 
ber of  men  who  would  hail  such  a  form  of  society 
with  delight,  as  relieving  them  from  all  anxiety 
about  sustenance,  and  from  all  need  of  skill  or 


224  PUBLIC  OPINION 

character,  is  probably  large  and  increasing.  For 
similar  reasons,  the  legislation  which  excites  most 
attention  is  apt  to  be  legislation  which  in  some 
way  promises  an  increase  of  physical  comfort. 
It  is  rarely,  for  instance,  that  a  trades  union  or 
workingman's  association  shows  much  interest  in 
any  law  except  one  which  promises  to  increase 
wages,  or  shorten  hours  of  labor,  or  lower  fares 
or  the  price  of  something.  Protection,  to  which 
a  very  large  number  of  workingmen  are  attached, 
is  only  in  their  eyes  a  mode  of  keeping  wages 
up.  "  Municipal  ownership  "  is  another  name 
for  low  fares;  restrictions  on  immigration  are  a 
mode  of  keeping  competitors  out  of  the  labor 
market. 

All  these  things,  and  things  of  a  similar  nature, 
attract  a  great  deal  of  interest;  the  encroach- 
ments of  the  bosses  on  constitutional  govern- 
ment, comparatively  little.  The  first  attempt  to 
legislate  for  the  economical  benefit  of  the  masses 
was  the  abolition  of  the  English  corn  laws.  It 
may  seem  at  first  sight  that  the  enactment  of  the 
corn  laws  was  an  economical  measure.  But  such 
was  not  the  character  in  which  the  corn  laws 
were  originally  advocated.  They  were  called  for, 
first,  in  order  to  make  England  self-supporting 
in  case  of  a  war  with  foreign  powers,  a  contin- 
gency which  was  constantly  present  to  men's 
minds  in  the  last  century ;  secondly,  to  keep  up 


PUBLIC  OPINION  225 

the  country  gentry,  or  "landed  interest,"  as  it 
was  called,  which  then  had  great  political  value 
and  importance.  The  abolition  of  these  laws 
was  avowedly  carried  out  simply  for  the  purpose 
of  cheapening  and  enlarging  the  loaf.  It  was 
the  beginning  of  a  series  of  measures  in  various 
countries  which  aim  merely  at  increasing  human 
physical  comfort,  whatever  their  effect  on  the 
structure  of  the  government  or  on  the  play  of 
political  institutions.  This  foreshadowed  the 
greatest  change  which  has  come  over  the  modern 
world.  It  is  now  governed  mainly  by  ideas 
about  the  distribution  of  commodities.  This  dis- 
tribution is  not  only  what  most  occupies  public 
opinion,  but  what  has  most  to  do  with  forming  it. 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

THE  only  really  democratic  experiment,  beside 
our  own,  going  on  in  the  world  to-day,  is  that  of 
the  English  Australian  colonies.  All  others  are 
more  or  less  disturbed  by  the  political  or  social 
traditions  of  an  anterior  regime.  Nowhere  else, 
therefore,  can  so  much  instruction  be  obtained 
as  to  the  probable  effect  of  popular  government 
on  laws  and  manners.  There  is  no  other  demo- 
cracy whose  beginning  so  nearly  resembles  ours. 
We  began,  it  is  true,  at  a  much  earlier  period, 
under  the  influence  of  aristocratic  and  religious 
ideas  which  have  lost  their  force,  and  we  began 
with  a  very  different  class  of  men.  Our  first 
settlers  were  a  selected  body,  with  strong  prepos- 
sessions in  favor  of  some  sort  of  organization, 
which,  whatever  it  was  to  be,  was  certainly  not 
to  be  democratic.  They  sought  to  reproduce  the 
monarchical  or  aristocratic  world  they  had  left, 
as  far  as  circumstances  would  permit.  It  may 
fairly  be  said  that  the  society  they  tried  to  estab- 
lish on  this  side  of  the  Atlantic  was  the  society 
of  the  Old  World,  with  some  improvements, 
notably  another  kind  of  established  church.  By 
the  time  the  Australian  colonies  were  founded, 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  227 

however,  —  that  is,  about  a  century  ago,  —  what 
was  most  antiquated  in  the  American  regime 
had  fairly  departed.  The  colonies  here  had 
sloughed  off  a  good  deal  of  the  European  incrus- 
tation, and  had  frankly  entered  on  the  demo- 
cratic regime,  but  with  social  foundations  such 
as  the  Australians  could  not  claim. 

Australia  originated  with  New  South  Wales, 
and  was  first  settled  as  a  convict  station.  Most 
of  the  earliest  emigrants  were  men  transported 
for  crime,  and  long  treated  as  slaves.  The  first 
step  taken  toward  social  organization  was  the 
bestowal  of  large  tracts  of  land  on  English  capi- 
talists, to  be  used  as  sheep-farms,  with  the  con- 
victs as  herdsmen  or  laborers.  Free  emigrants 
came  slowly  to  open  up  agriculture  as  a  field 
of  industry.  As  they  increased,  hostility  to  the 
large  sheep-farmers  was  developed  in  a  process 
somewhat  similar  to  the  extinction  of  the  great 
manors  in  New  York.  In  fact,  New  South 
Wales  passed  nearly  half  a  century  in  getting 
rid  of  the  defects  of  its  foundation,  in  clarifying 
its  social  constitution,  and  in  bringing  itself  into 
something  like  harmony  with  the  other  civilized 
societies  of  the  world.  In  1842  the  colonies 
received  a  legislature,  a  large  proportion  of  the 
members  of  which  were  nominees  of  the  crown. 
During  the  previous  half-century  they  were  gov- 
erned despotically  by  governors,  often  broken- 


228  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

down  aristocrats,  sent  out  from  England.  Their 
society  was  composed  largely  of  the  great  sheep- 
farmers  and  of  actual  or  emancipated  convicts. 
Religion  and  morals  were  for  a  time  at  the  low- 
est ebb.  The  institution  of  marriage  hardly 
existed.  The  multitude  of  female  convicts  and 
the  thinness  of  population  in  the  interior,  ren- 
dered concubinage  easy  and  general.  The  press 
had  not  begun  to  draw  respectable  talent  from 
England,  and  the  newspapers,  such  as  they  were, 
were  largely  in  the  hands  of  ex-convicts.  There 
was  nothing  that  could  be  called  public  opinion. 
The  only  appeal  against  any  wrong-doing  lay  to 
the  home  government,  which  was  then  six  months 
away;  and  so  deeply  seated  was  the  belief  in 
England  that  Australia  was  simply  a  community 
of  criminals,  that  any  appeals  received  but  little 
attention. 

The  first  thing  that  could  be  called  a  political 
party  in  the  colony  consisted  of  Irish  Catholic 
immigrants,  who  had  gone  out  in  large  numbers 
in  1841,  under  the  stimulation  of  government 
grants  and  bounties.  They  acted  rather  as  Cath- 
olics than  as  citizens,  and,  as  usual,  under  the 
leadership  of  their  clergy.  A  responsible  legis- 
lature of  two  houses  was  not  established  until 
1856.  The  colonies  started  with  the  English,  or 
cabinet  system ;  that  is,  with  ministries  selected 
or  approved  by  Parliament.  This  was  the  first 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  229 

great  difference  between  us  and  them.  The 
framers  of  the  American  Constitution  decided, 
for  reasons  which  seemed  to  them  good,  to  give 
the  executive  a  definite  term  of  office,  independ- 
ent of  legislative  approval.  This  they  conceived 
to  be  necessary  to  the  establishment  of  complete 
independence  between  the  different  departments 
of  the  government.  The  separation  of  the  ex- 
ecutive, judicial,  and  legislative  branches  held 
a  very  high  place  in  the  minds  of  all  political 
speculators  in  the  eighteenth  century,  after  Mon- 
tesquieu had  dwelt  on  its  necessity.  Therefore, 
the  founders  of  the  American  republic  made  each 
branch  independent  in  its  own  sphere,  with  its 
own  term  of  office,  which  the  others  could  neither 
lengthen  nor  abridge.  This  is  what  is  called 
the  presidential  system.  The  cabinet  system 
makes  the  executive  not  only  part  and  parcel  of 
the  legislative  branch,  but  dependent  on  it  for 
existence.  A  vote  of  the  majority  can  change 
the  executive,  while  the  executive  can  order  a 
renewal  of  the  legislative  branch;  that  is,  dis- 
solve it.  The  presidential  system  is  undoubtedly 
the  best  defense  that  could  be  devised  against 
democratic  changeableness,  or  the  influence  on 
the  government  of  sudden  bursts  of  popular  feel- 
ing. But  it  almost  goes  to  the  other  extreme. 
It  is  very  difficult  to  make  any  change  in  public 
policy  or  legislation  in  the  United  States  in  less 


230  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

than  five  years.  In  Australia,  under  the  cabinet 
system,  six  changes  may  be  made  in  a  year.  In 
New  South  Wales,  there  have  been  forty-one 
ministries,  doubtless  with  entirely  different  views 
on  important  subjects,  in  thirty-seven  years,  or 
more  than  one  change  each  year.  The  same 
phenomena  exhibit  themselves  in  all  the  coun- 
tries which  have  adopted  the  British  system,  or 
in  which  the  royal  prerogative  still  remains  a 
legislative  force.  Unhappily,  in  the  colonies  as 
in  France,  these  frequent  changes  do  not  always 
mean  changes  of  policy.  Ministries  are  too  often 
overthrown  simply  to  satisfy  personal  rancor,  or 
disappointment,  or  jealousy. 

Another  point  of  difference  between  our  be- 
ginning and  that  of  the  Australians  was  that 
they  had  no  constitution,  as  we  call  it;  that  is, 
no  organic  law,  paramount  to  all  other  laws,  and 
which  all  legislators  were  bound  to  respect  in  legis- 
lating. Every  government  was  organized  under 
an  English  act  of  Parliament,  but  this  simply  pro- 
vided a  framework,  and  placed  almost  no  restric- 
tions on  the  subjects  of  legislation,  because  there 
are  no  restrictions  on  the  action  of  the  Eng- 
lish Parliament  itself.  The  will  of  Parliament 
is  the  British  constitution,  and  the  will  of  the 
Australian  legislatures  is  the  constitution  of  the 
colonies,  provided  they  make  no  attack  on  the 
supremacy  of  the  British  crown;  that  is,  they 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  231 

may  do  anything  which  Parliament  may  do,  pro- 
vided they  obey  the  imperial  law  which  sets  them 
up.  This  has  some  good  effects,  and  some  bad 
ones.  It  decidedly  increases  the  sense  of  respon- 
sibility, in  which  our  legislatures  are  so  often 
wanting.  The  Australians  know  that  any  act 
they  pass  will  be  executed,  that  no  intervention 
of  the  courts  on  constitutional  grounds  can  be 
looked  for,  and  that  if  the  law  works  badly  the 
action  of  public  sentiment  will  be  immediate,  and 
may  lead  to  the  overthrow  of  the  ministry  for 
the  time  being.  In  fact,  a  law  paramount,  drawn 
up  by  picked  men,  assembling  for  the  purpose  at 
stated  intervals  of  twenty  years  or  less,  and  safe- 
guarding all  the  primary  social  rights  against 
popular  passion  or  impulse  or  legislative  corrup- 
tion, and  interpreted  by  the  courts,  is  a  device 
peculiar  to  the  United  States.  It  is  the  only 
really  valid  check  on  democracy  ever  devised, 
but  it  is  doubtful  whether  it  could  now  be  set 
up  anywhere  else  with  effect.  Its  Revolutionary 
origin  has  surrounded  it  with  a  sanctity  which 
it  would  be  difficult  to  give  any  court  created  in 
our  day  and  gainsaying  the  popular  will.  On 
the  other  hand,  this  absence  of  constitution  gives 
legislatures  a  freedom  in  trying  social  experi- 
ments greater  than  ours  enjoy,  though  they  en- 
joy a  good  deal.  There  is  hardly  any  mode  of 
dealing  with  private  property  or  private  rights 


232  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

which  an  Australian  legislature  may  not  attempt, 
hardly  any  experiment  in  taxation  which  it  may 
not  try.  Its  sole  restraint  lies  in  the  quick  action 
of  popular  reprobation. 

These  two  facts  —  the  adoption  of  the  cabinet 
system  from  England,  and  the  absence  of  a  con- 
stitution containing  restraints  on  legislation  — 
are  the  main  differences  between  our  democracy 
and  that  of  Australia.  But  every  Australian 
colony,  however  strong  its  aspirations  to  political 
independence,  is  influenced  in  what  may  be  called 
its  manners  by  the  mother  country.  Australia  be- 
gan its  political  life  with  as  close  an  approach  to 
an  aristocracy  as  a  new  country  can  make,  in  the 
existence  of  the  "  squatters,"  most  of  whom  were 
capitalists  or  scions  of  good  English  families. 
These  men  obtained  large  grants  of  land  from 
the  government  for  sheep-farming,  which  in  the 
beginning  they  managed  with  convicts  whom 
they  hired  from  the  state,  and  whom  they  were 
permitted  to  flog  in  case  of  misbehavior.  Their 
life,  in  short,  was  very  nearly  that  of  the  old 
cotton-planter  in  the  South,  with  the  "patri- 
archal "  element  wanting. 

The  first  work  of  the  new  democracy  was  to 
overthrow  them,  and  take  their  large  tracts  of 
land  away  from  them.  But  the  democracy  did 
not  succeed,  and  has  not  succeeded,  in  prevent- 
ing the  formation  of  an  upper  class  of  the  "Eng- 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  233 

lish  gentleman"  type.  This  is  what  the  suc- 
cessful Australian  still  strives  to  be.  He  does 
not  become  "  a  man  of  the  people,"  in  our  sense, 
and  does  not  boast  of  his  humble  origin  and 
early  struggles,  as  much  as  our  millionaire  is  apt 
to  do.  The  influence  of  this  type  was  prolonged 
and  strengthened  by  the  large  emigration  to 
Australia  of  university  graduates  from  England, 
during  the  fifties  and  sixties,  after  the  colonies 
had  fairly  entered  on  free  government,  when  a 
successful  career  at  the  bar  and  in  public  life  had 
become  possible.  These,  again,  were  reinforced 
by  a  stiU  larger  emigration  of  broken-down  men 
of  good  family,  who,  if  they  added  but  little 
to  the  wealth  or  morality  of  the  colonies,  did  a 
good  deal  to  preserve  the  predominance  of  Eng- 
lish conventional  ideas.  For  instance,  one  of 
the  very  strong  English  traditions  is  the  right 
of  men  of  education  and  prominence  to  public 
offices ;  that  is,  men  previously  raised  above  the 
crowd  by  wealth  or  rank  or  education,  or  by 
some  outward  sign  of  distinction.  This  was  per- 
petuated in  the  colonies  by  their  connection  with 
England  in  the  way  I  have  mentioned.  It  made 
the  careers  of  such  men  as  Robert  Low  and 
Gavan  Duffy  and  Dr.  Pensores,  and  many  others, 
easy  and  natural,  and  made  the  breaking  away 
from  English  ideas  on  social  questions  more  diffi- 
cult. Perhaps  as  important  was  the  fact  that  it 


234  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

preserved  the  English  way  of  living  as  the  thing 
for  the  "  self-made  man "  to  aspire  to.  How 
strong  this  influence  is  in  the  Anglo-Saxon  world 
may  be  inferred  from  the  difficulty  of  keeping 
English  influence  in  these  matters  in  due  sub- 
ordination in  this  country.  Nearly  all  our  rich 
people,  and  people  who  have  enjoyed  any  social 
success  in  England,  are  apt  to  revert  to  English 
life,  and  have  to  be  ridiculed  and  denounced  in 
the  press  in  order  to  make  them  continue  "  good 
Americans." 

In  democracies  which  still  look  to  England  as 
"  home,"  and  which  receive  large  bodies  of  im- 
migrants educated  in  England,  it  can  be  easily 
understood  how  great  must  be  the  English  in- 
fluence on  the  colonial  way  of  looking  at  both 
politics  and  society.  In  later  days,  when  the 
democracy  has  fairly  broken  loose  from  the  con- 
trol of  the  Foreign  Office,  gifted  men  of  the 
earlier  American  kind  —  that  is,  good  speakers 
or  writers  —  have  in  a  large  degree  preserved 
their  sway.  The  multiplicity  of  new  questions, 
and  the  possibility  of  getting  into  power  at  any 
time  by  overthrowing  the  existing  ministry,  have 
naturally  kept  alive  the  art  of  discussion  as  the 
art  which  leads  to  political  eminence.  Thus  far, 
undoubtedly,  this  has  prevented  the  rise  of  any 
system  like  our  caucus,  which  attaches  little  im- 
portance to  speech  or  power  of  persuasion.  In 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  235 

Australia  a  man  can  hardly  get  high  office  with- 
out a  general  election.  He  has  to  produce  a 
change  of  opinion  in  the  legislature,  or  so  great 
a  change  of  opinion  out  of  doors  as  to  intimidate 
the  legislature,  either  in  order  to  see  his  policy 
adopted  by  the  men  actually  in  power,  or  to  be 
charged  himself  with  the  formation  of  a  new 
ministry.  That  is,  the  man  most  successful  in 
exposition,  who  identifies  himself  by  speech  most 
prominently  with  some  pending  question,  be- 
comes, under  the  cabinet  system,  the  man  enti- 
tled to  power,  and  no  caucus  nomination  could 
either  give  it  to  him  or  deprive  him  of  it.  This 
more  than  aught  else  has  made  easy  individual 
prominence  by  means  of  parliamentary  arts.  Of 
course,  there  is  behind  all  talk  a  good  deal  of 
intrigue  and  chicanery,  but  talk  there  has  to 
be.  The  cabinet  system  —  or  the  possibility  of 
changing  majorities  in  the  legislature  at  any  time 
without  waiting  for  a  fixed  term  —  makes  it 
absolutely  necessary  that  a  successful  politician 
should  be  able  to  express  himself.  He  may  be 
uneducated,  in  the  technical  sense  of  the  term, 
but  he  must  be  master  of  his  own  subject,  and 
be  able  to  give  a  good  account  of  it.  He  has 
to  propose  something  energetically,  in  order  to 
hold  his  place.  Thus,  Sir  Charles  Cowper  and 
Robert  Low  had  to  connect  themselves  with  the 
educational  system,  Sir  Henry  Parkes  with  the 


236  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

land  system,  and  so  on.  The  minister,  whoever 
he  is,  is  in  constant  danger  of  losing  his  place ; 
the  "  outs"  are  constantly  eager  to  displace  him, 
and  they  displace  him,  as  in  England,  by  bring- 
ing up  new  questions,  or  new  aspects  of  old 
ones. 

The  system,  as  I  have  already  said,  has  the 
well-known  defect  of  instability  in  the  executive. 
It  means  in  Australia,  as  it  means  in  France  and 
Italy,  incessant  change  or  frequent  changes.  It 
is  what  our  founders  dreaded  when  they  put  the 
President  in  office  for  four  years,  and  Congress 
for  two  years,  and  made  each  independent  of 
the  other.  But  it  has  the  effect  of  preventing 
the  formation  of  strict  party  ties,  controlled  by 
a  manager  who  has  not  to  render  any  public 
account  of  his  management.  In  other  words, 
the  caucus  ruled  by  the  boss  is  hardly  possible 
under  it.  The  boss  is  hardly  possible,  if  he  has 
to  explain  the  reasons  of  his  actions,  and  to  say 
what  he  thinks  the  party  policy  ought  to  be. 
Whether  this  system  would  survive  the  forma- 
tion of  a  confederacy  like  ours,  and  the  necessity 
of  more  potent  machinery  to  get  a  larger  multi- 
tude to  take  part  in  elections,  is  something  which 
may  reasonably  be  doubted.  In  large  demo- 
cracies the  future  probably  belongs  to  the  presi- 
dential system,  with  its  better  arrangements  for 
the  formation  and  preservation  of  strong  parties, 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  237 

working  under  stricter  discipline  and  with  less 
discussion. 

The  cabinet  system,  however,  has  had  one 
excellent  effect :  it  compels  every  minister  who 
appeals  to  the  constituencies  for  power  to  state 
at  length  and  with  minuteness  his  claims  on  their 
support.  He  sets  forth  his  views  and  plans  with 
a  fullness  and  an  amount  of  argumentation 
which  are  never  met  with  nowadays  in  our  party 
platforms.  He  makes  a  real  plea  for  confidence 
in  him  personally,  and  he  issues  his  programme 
immediately  before  the  election  which  is  to  de- 
cide his  fate.  His  opponent,  or  rival,  issues  a 
counter  one,  and  the  two  together  place  before 
the  constituencies  an  explanation  of  the  political 
situation  such  as  our  voters  rarely  get.  Each 
not  only  explains  and  argues  in  defense  of  his 
programme,  but  makes  promises,  which  if  he 
succeeds  he  may  be  almost  immediately  called 
on  to  fulfill.  These  two  documents  are,  in  fact, 
much  more  business-like  than  anything  which 
our  political  men  lay  before  us.  In  our  presi- 
dential system,  no  one  in  particular  is  responsible 
for  legislation,  and  the  Congress  elected  one  year 
does  not  meet  till  the  next.  The  effect  of  these 
two  circumstances  has  given  our  party  platform 
a  vagueness  and  a  sonorousness,  a  sort  of  detach- 
ment from  actual  affairs,  which  make  it  some- 
what resemble  a  Pope's  encyclical.  It  does  not 


238  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

contain  a  legislative  programme.  There  is,  in 
fact,  no  person  competent  to  make  one,  because 
no  person,  or  set  of  persons,  would  be  charged 
with  fulfilling  it.  It  is  "  the  party  "  which  the 
voter  supports,  and  the  party  is  a  body  too  in- 
determinate to  be  held  to  any  sort  of  account- 
ability. The  platform,  therefore,  confines  itself 
to  expressing  views,  instead  of  making  promises. 
It  reveals  the  hopes,  the  fears,  the  dislikes,  and 
the  admirations  of  the  party  rather  than  its  inten- 
tions. It  expresses  sympathy  with  nationalities 
struggling  for  freedom,  affection  for  workingmen 
and  a  strong  desire  that  people  who  hire  them 
shall  pay  them  a  "fair  wage,"  detestation  of 
various  forms  of  wrong-doing  on  the  part  of  their 
opponents,  and  denunciation  of  the  mischiefs  to 
the  country  which  these  opponents  have  wrought. 
But  it  gives  little  inkling  of  what  the  party  will 
really  do  if  it  gets  into  power.  If  it  does  nothing 
at  all,  it  cannot  be  called  to  account  except  in 
the  same  vague  and  indefinite  way.  Nobody 
in  particular  is  responsible  for  its  shortcomings, 
because  all  its  members  are  responsible  in  the 
same  degree. 

Take  as  an  illustration  of  my  meaning  what 
has  occurred  in  this  country  with  regard  to  the 
existing  currency  difficulties.  Both  the  Repub- 
lican and  Democratic  platforms  have  declared  in 
favor  of  having  a  good  currency,  but  the  Demo- 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  239 

cratic  platform  simply  demanded  the  coinage  of 
silver  at  a  certain  ratio  to  gold,  and  ascribed  a 
long  list  of  evils  to  the  failure  of  the  nation  to 
furnish  such  a  coinage ;  it  described  these  evils 
in  terms  of  philanthropy  rather  than  of  finance. 
It  did  not  offer  any  explanation,  in  detail,  of  the 
way  free  coinage  of  silver  at  the  sixteen  to  one 
ratio,  would  work ;  how  it  would  affect  foreign 
exchange,  or  domestic  investments,  or  creditors, 
or  savings-banks.  It  simply  recommended  the 
plan  passionately,  as  a  just  and  humane  thing, 
and  treated  its  opponents  as  sharks  and  tyrants. 
No  business  man  could  learn  anything  from  it 
as  to  the  prospects  of  his  ventures  under  a  silver 
regime.  The  Republican  platform,  on  the  other 
hand,  declared  its  desire  that  the  various  kinds 
of  United  States  currency  (ten  in  number) 
should  be  of  equal  value.  But  it  abstained 
from  saying  precisely  in  what  manner  this  equal- 
ity of  value  would  be  preserved,  and  what  steps 
would  be  taken  for  the  purpose.  In  spite  of 
the  fact  that  it  was  dealing  with  a  business 
matter,  it  made  no  proposal  which  a  business 
man  could  weigh  or  even  understand.  The 
result  was  that  although  Congress  met  within 
four  months  of  the  election,  and  the  election 
had  turned  on  the  currency  question,  nothing 
whatever  was  said  or  done  about  it.  No  one 
in  Congress  felt  any  particular  responsibility 


240  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

about  it,  or  could  be  called  to  account  for  not 
bringing  it  up  or  trying  to  settle  it.  Yet  every 
one  could,  or  would,  express  cordial  agreement 
with  the  platform. 

Under  the  Australian  system  things  would 
have  gone  differently.  Mr.  McKinley  would 
have  issued  an  address  to  the  electors,  saying 
distinctly  that  he  stood  for  the  gold  standard, 
setting  forth  the  precise  manner  in  which  he 
meant  to  deal  with  the  various  forms  of  United 
States  currency  in  case  he  were  elected,  and 
promising  to  do  it  immediately  on  his  election. 
Mr.  Bryan  would  have  issued  a  counter  mani- 
festo, stating  not  simply  his  objections  to  the 
gold  standard,  but  the  exact  way  in  which  he 
meant  to  get  rid  of  it,  and  the  probable  effect 
of  this  action  on  trade  and  industry.  Conse- 
quently, after  the  election,  one  or  other  of  them 
would  have  met  a  Parliament  which  would  have 
demanded  of  him  immediate  legislation  ;  and  if 
he  had  failed  to  produce  it  promptly,  he  would 
have  been  denounced  as  a  traitor  or  an  incom- 
petent, and  a  vote  of  want  of  confidence  would 
have  turned  him  out  of  office.  In  short,  the 
winning  man  would  have  had  to  produce  at  once 
something  like  the  plan  which  our  Monetary 
Commission,  composed  of  men  not  in  political 
life  at  all,  has  laboriously  formed. 

There    occurred    in    Queensland,    when    Sir 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  241 

George  Bowen  was  governor,  in  1867,  a  financial 
crisis  which  makes  clear  the  difference  between 
the  Australian  system  and  ours.  The  minis- 
try had  borrowed  £1,000,000  sterling  through 
a  Sydney  bank,  to  be  spent  in  public  works. 
The  works  had  been  begun,  and  £50,000  of  the 
money  had  been  received  and  a  large  number  of 
men  employed,  when  the  bank  failed.  The 
ministers  in  office  instantly  proposed  to  issue 
"  inconvertible  government  notes,"  like  our 
greenbacks  during  the  war,  and  make  them  legal 
tender  in  the  colony.  The  governor  informed 
them  that  he  should  have  to  veto  such  a  bill,  as 
his  instructions  required  him  to  "  reserve  for  the 
Queen's  pleasure  "  every  bill  whereby  any  paper 
or  other  currency  might  be  made  a  legal  tender, 
"  except  the  coin  of  the  realm,  or  other  gold  or 
silver  coin."  But  the  ministers  persisted.  The 
populace  of  Brisbane  were  told  by  a  few  stump 
orators  that  "  an  issue  of  unlimited  greenbacks 
would  create  unlimited  funds  for  their  employ- 
ment on  public  works,  while  at  the  same  time 
it  would  ruin  the  bankers,  squatters  [great 
sheep-farmers],  and  other  capitalists,"  whom  the 
people  hated.  A  so-called  indignation  meet- 
ing was  held,  at  which  the  governor  and  a 
majority  of  the  legislature  were  denounced  in  vio- 
lent terms;  several  leading  members  of  Parlia- 
ment were  ill-treated  in  the  streets,  and  threats 


242  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

were  even  uttered  of  burning  down  Government 
House.1 

The  governor  held  firm,  and  insisted  on  meet- 
ing the  crisis  by  the  issue  of  exchequer  bills;  so 
the  ministry  resigned,  and  was  succeeded  by  an- 
other, which  did  issue  the  exchequer  bills.  Had 
the  governor  not  held  his  ground,  the  colony 
would  have  been  launched  on  a  sea  of  irredeem- 
able paper,  from  which  escape  would  probably 
have  been  difficult.  In  fact,  there  is  little  doubt 
that  it  is  the  necessity  of  making  their  loans  in 
England,  and  thus  getting  the  approval  of  Brit- 
ish capitalists  for  their  financial  expedients, 
which  has  saved  the  colonies  from  even  worse 
excesses  in  currency  matters.  The  immediate 
responsibility  of  the  minister  for  legislation  must 
make  all  crises  short,  if  sharp.  No  abnormal 
financial  situation  in  any  of  the  Australian  colo- 
nies could  last  as  long  as  ours  has  done,  and 
while  they  retain  their  connection  with  the  Brit- 
ish crown  they  will  be  preserved  from  the  very 
tempting  device  of  irredeemable  paper. 

An  effort  has  been  made  in  some  of  the  colo- 
nies to  get  rid  of  changefuluess  in  the  executive 
by  electing  the  ministers  by  popular  suffrage, 
instead  of  having  them  elected  by  Parliament ; 
but  this  attempt  to  depart  from  the  cabinet  sys- 

1  Thirty  Years  of  Colonial   Government.     From  the  Official 
Papers  of  Sir  G.  F.  Bowen. 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  243 

tern  has  apparently  been  made  only  by  the 
"  labor  party,"  or  workingman's  party,  which 
exists  and  grows,  without  having  as  yet  been 
successful  in  getting  hold  of  office.  Its  main 
strength  seems  to  lie,  as  in  this  country,  in  influ- 
ence ;  that  is,  in  alarming  members  of  Parlia- 
ment about  its  vote.  It  hangs  over  the  heads  of 
the  legislators  in  terrorem,  in  closely  divided 
constituencies,  but  does  not  often  make  its  way 
into  Parliament  itself,  though  those  of  its  mem- 
bers who  have  been  elected  seem  to  acquit  them- 
selves very  creditably. 

The  first  strong  resemblance  between  our 
experience  and  that  of  the  Australians  is  to  be 
found  in  the  educational  system.  The  first 
attempts  at  popular  education,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  were  made  by  the  clergy  of  the 
Anglican  Church,  the  only  church  which  had 
official  recognition  in  the  early  days  of  the  colo- 
nies. All  money  voted  by  the  government  for 
this  purpose  was  given  to  the  clergy  and  dis- 
tributed by  them.  The  instruction  was  mainly 
religious,  and  the  catechism  and  reading  of  the 
Scriptures  in  the  Protestant  version  played  a 
prominent  part  in  it.  From  the  beginning,  the 
opposition  to  this,  on  the  part  of  all  the  other 
denominations,  was  very  strong.  As  in  America, 
the  opposition  of  the  Catholics  was  not  directed 
against  denominational  teaching.  They  were 


244  THE  AUSTRALIAN   DEMOCRACY 

willing  to  have  the  state  money  equally  divided 
among  the  clergy,  so  that  each  denomination 
might  control  the  instruction  given  to  its  own 
children.  To  this  plan  all  the  other  denomina- 
tions, except  the  Anglicans,  were  violently  hos- 
tile ;  so  that  on  this  question  the  Protestant 
Episcopalians  and  the  Catholics  were  united. 
Their  clergy  wanted  the  state  money  for  their 
own  kind  of  education,  while  those  of  other 
denominations  were  in  favor  of  secular  educa- 
tion, or  common  schools,  paid  for  largely  by  the 
state,  though  not  wholly,  as  here. 

It  would  be  tedious  to  go  over  the  history  of 
the  struggle  which  resulted  in  the  establishment 
of  state  schools,  with  secular  teaching.  It  bore 
a  close  resemblance  to  our  own  struggle,  but  dif- 
fered in  having  for  the  efforts  of  the  Protestant 
Episcopalians  powerful  support  from  the  home 
government,  which  then,  as  now,  sympathized 
with  denominational  teaching.  It  ended,  finally, 
in  the  triumph  of  the  secular  schools.  Secular 
education  seems  to  be  the  established  democratic 
method  of  teaching  the  young,  though  the  de- 
sire of  the  clergy  to  keep  control  of  education 
is  giving  it  an  anti-religious  trend  in  some  coun- 
tries, —  France,  for  instance.  The  agitation  of 
this  subject  in  Australia  has  brought  out  the 
interesting  fact  that  the  Catholic  population, 
almost  wholly  Irish  and  very  large,  sides  with 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  245 

the  priests  on  nearly  every  public  question,  the 
educational  question  among  others.  This  is 
exactly  what  has  occurred  in  England.  In  the 
late  conflict  over  the  schools  in  England,  the 
Irish  voted  with  the  Tories  in  favor  of  denomi- 
national teaching.  Like  most  national  oddities, 
there  is  for  this  an  historical  explanation.  The 
banishment  of  the  old  Irish  gentry,  beginning 
in  Elizabeth's  time,  and  ending  with  the  Revo- 
lution of  1688,  deprived  the  Irish  of  their  natu- 
ral political  leaders.  The  new  gentry  were  for- 
eigners in  race  and  religion,  and  in  political 
sympathies.  This  threw  the  people  back  on  the 
priests,  who  became  their  only  advisers  possessing 
any  education  or  knowledge  of  the  world,  and 
assumed  without  difficulty  a  political  leadership 
which  has  never  been  shaken  to  this  day,  in  spite 
of  the  growing  activity  of  the  lay  element  in  Irish 
politics.  No  Irish  layman  has,  as  yet,  proved  a 
very  successful  politician,  in  the  long  run,  who 
has  not  managed  to  keep  the  clergy  at  his  back. 
It  may  be  said  that,  on  the  whole,  the  educa- 
tional movement  in  Australia  has  been  controlled 
by  influences  common  to  the  rest  of  the  civil- 
ized world.  In  nearly  all  countries  there  is  a 
struggle  going  on  —  which  ended  with  us  many 
years  ago — to  wrest  the  control  of  the  popular 
schools,  wherever  they  exist,  from  the  hands  of 
the  clergy,  who  have  held  it  for  twelve  hundred 


246  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

years.  No  characteristic  of  the  old  regime  in 
politics  is  more  prominent  than  the  belief  that 
the  priests  or  ministers  only  should  have  charge 
of  the  training  of  youth.  Almost  the  whole  his- 
tory of  the  educational  movement  in  this  century 
is  the  history  of  the  efforts  of  the  "  Liberals"  or 
"  Radicals  "  to  oust  them. 

The  Australians  resemble  us  also  in  having  an 
immense  tract  of  land  at  the  disposition  of  the 
state.  They  came  into  possession  much  later, 
when  waste  lands  were  more  accessible,  before 
they  were  covered  by  traditions  of  any  sort,  and 
when  the  air  had  become  charged  with  the 
spirit  of  experimentation.  They  have  accord- 
ingly tried  to  do  various  things  with  the  land, 
which  we  never  thought  of.  South  Australia, 
for  instance,  had  the  plan  of  giving  grants  of 
land  to  small  cooperative  associations,  to  be  man- 
aged by  trustees,  and  supplied  with  capital  by 
a  loan  from  the  state  of  not  more  than  $250  a 
head.  The  state,  in  short,  agreed  to  do  what 
our  Populists  think  it  ought  to  do, — lend  money 
to  the  farmers  at  a  low  rate  of  interest.  Some  of 
these  associations  were  plainly  communistic,  and 
the  members  were  often  brought  together  simply 
by  poverty.  As  a  whole,  they  have  not  suc- 
ceeded. Some  have  broken  up ;  others  remain 
and  pay  the  government  its  interest,  but  no  one 
expects  that  it  will  ever  get  back  the  principal. 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  247 

In  New  South  Wales,  the  state  became  a  land- 
lord on  an  extensive  scale  on  the  Henry  George 
plan,  and  the  question  of  rents  then  grew  into  a 
great  political  question.  Political  "  pressure  " 
is  brought  to  bear  on  the  fixing  of  the  rents,  and 
the  management,  of  course,  gives  a  very  large 
field  for  "  pulls  "  and  "  influence."  In  Queens- 
land, which  has  a  tropical  sugar  region,  not  only 
have  lands  been  rented  by  the  state,  but  cheap 
carriage  has  been  provided  for  farm  and  dairy 
produce  on  the  state  railway,  bonuses  have  been 
paid  on  the  export  of  dairy  produce,  advances 
have  been  made  to  the  proprietors  of  works  for 
freezing  meat,  and  it  has  been  proposed  to  estab- 
lish state  depots  in  London  for  the  receipt  and 
distribution  of  frozen  meat.  One  act  makes  pro- 
vision, under  certain  conditions,  for  a  state  guar- 
antee for  loans  contracted  to  build  sugar-works. 
In  New  Zealand,  there  is  a  graduated  tax  in- 
tended to  crush  out  large  landholders ;  but  any 
landholder  who  is  dissatisfied  with  his  assessment 
can  require  the  government  to  purchase  at  its 
own  valuation,  and  land  is  rented  in  small  hold- 
ings. The  government  has  also  borrowed  large 
sums  of  money  to  lend  to  farmers  on  mortgage. 
It  sends  lecturers  on  butter-making  and  fruit- 
growing around  the  country.  It  pays  wages  to 
labor  associations  who  choose  to  settle  on  state 
lands  and  clear  or  improve  them,  and  then  allows. 


248  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

them  to  take  up  the  holdings  thus  improved.  It 
keeps  a  "  state  farm,"  on  which  it  gives  work  to 
the  unemployed.  All  these  things,  of  course, 
give  it  a  great  number  of  favors  to  bestow  or 
withhold,  and  open  a  wide  field  for  political  in- 
trigue. 

As  a  general  rule,  the  suffrage  is  adult  and 
male,  but  there  is  a  property  qualification  for 
voters  for  the  upper  houses  of  the  legislatures, 
answering  to  our  Senates.  Members  of  both 
houses  are  paid  a  small  salary.  At  first  they  all 
served  voluntarily,  as  in  England,  and  the  pay- 
ment of  members  was  not  brought  about  with- 
out a  good  deal  of  agitation.  But  the  argument 
which  carried  the  day  for  payment  was,  not,  as 
might  be  supposed,  the  justice  of  giving  poor 
men  a  chance  of  seats,  but  the  necessity,  in  a 
busy  community,  of  securing  for  the  work  of 
government  the  services  of  many  competent  men 
who  could  not  afford  to  give  their  time  without 
pay.  The  "  plum  "  idea  of  a  seat  in  the  legisla- 
ture can  hardly  be  said  to  have  made  its  appear- 
ance yet.  The  necessity  of  doing  something  for 
"  labor  "  very  soon  became  prominent  in  colonial 
policy,  and  one  of  its  first  triumphs  was  the  con- 
traction of  very  large  loans  in  England  for  the 
construction  of  public  works,  mainly  railroads 
and  common  roads,  the  creation  of  village  settle- 

'  O 

ments  and  the  advance  of  money  to  them.     The 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  249 

result  of  all  this,  after  a  while,  was  tremendous 
financial  collapse,  and  the  discharge  of  large 
bodies  of  the  very  laborers  for  whose  benefit  the 
works  were  undertaken.  This  calamity  seems 
to  have  stimulated  the  tendency  to  tax  the  rich 
heavily,  and  to  foster  the  policy  of  protection. 
Trade  is  promoted  not  simply  by  duties  on  im- 
ports, but  by  state  aid  to  exports.  A  depot  in 
London,  which  does  not  pay  its  own  expenses, 
takes  charge  of  Australian  goods  and  guarantees 
their  quality;  bonuses  are  given  to  particular 
classes  of  producers,  and  there  is  even  talk  of 
a  "  produce  export  department "  of  the  govern- 
ment. The  protectionist  policy  has  taken  pos- 
session of  the  Australian  mind  even  more  firmly 
than  it  has  taken  possession  of  the  mind  of  the 
Republican  party  here.  A  free-trader  comes 
nearer  being  looked  upon  as  a  "  crank  "  in  most 
of  the  colonies  than  he  does  here.  But  the 
"  infant  industry  "  there  has  solid  claims  to  nur- 
ture which  it  does  not  possess  in  this  country. 
In  fact,  the  dominance  of  the  protectionist  the- 
ory is  so  strong  that  it  forms  one  of  the  obstacles 
in  the  promotion  of  the  proposed  Australian  con- 
federation, as  no  colony  is  quite  willing  to  give 
up  its  right  to  tax  imports  from  all  the  others, 
and  still  less  is  it  willing  to  join  Mr.  Chamber- 
lain's followers  and  let  in  free  the  goods  of  the 
mother  country.  We  may  conjecture  from  this 


250  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

what  obstacles  the  policy  of  free  internal  trade 
between  our  states  would  have  met  with  at  the 
foundation  of  our  government,  had  America  been 
more  of  a  manufacturing  community,  and  had 
intercommunication  been  easier.  The  difficulty 
of  carriage  a  hundred  years  ago  formed  a  natural 
tariff,  which  made  the  competition  of  foreigners 
seem  comparatively  unimportant. 

From  the  bestowal  of  responsible  government 
in  the  fifties,  down  to  1893,  nearly  all  the  colo- 
nies reveled  in  the  ease  with  which  they  could 
borrow  money  in  England.  There  was  a  great 
rush  to  make  state  railroads,  in  order  to  open 
up  the  lands  of  the  great  landholders  to  pro- 
jects favored  by  labor,  and  to  give  employment 
to  workingmen;  and,  after  the  railroads  were 
made,  they  carried  workingmen  for  next  to  no- 
thing. Along  with  this  came  an  enormous  de- 
velopment of  the  civil  service,  somewhat  like 
our  increase  of  pensions.  New  South  Wales 
alone  had  200,000  persons  in  government  offices, 
at  a  salary  of  $13,000,000,  and  10,000  railroad 
employees  to  boot.  This  gave  the  ministries  for 
the  time  being  great  influence,  which  was  in- 
creased by  the  fact  that  the  state  was  the  owner 
of  large  tracts  of  land,  which  it  rented  on  favor- 
able terms  to  favored  tenants.  The  excitement 
of  apparent  prosperity,  too,  brought  into  the 
legislature  large  numbers  of  men  to  whom  salary 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  251 

•was  important,  and  the  result  was  perhaps  the 
first  serious  decline  in  the  character  of  the  Aus- 
tralian governments.  The  colonies  were  founded 
between  1788  and  1855.  Up  to  this  time  they 
have  spent  $800,000,000  on  public  works. 
They  have  made  80,000  miles  of  telegraph,  and 
10,000  miles  of  railway.  Though  they  have  a 
revenue  of  only  $117,500,000,  they  have  already 
a  debt  of  $875,000,000. 

These  "good  times"  came  to  their  natural 
end.  By  1893  the  money  was  all  spent,  the 
taxation  was  not  sufficient  to  meet  the  interest, 
the  English  capitalists  refused  further  advances, 
the  banks  failed  on  all  sides,  and  the  colonies 
were  left  with  large  numbers  of  unemployed  on 
their  hands.  There  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
spend  more  money  on  "relief  works,"  and  to 
keep  almost  permanently  in  the  employment  of 
the  state  large  bodies  of  men,  who  liked  it  sim- 
ply because  it  was  easy,  and  because  hard  times 
were  a  sufficient  excuse  for  seeking  it.  What 
one  learns  from  the  experience  of  the  colonies  in 
the  matter  of  expenditure  is  the  difficulty,  in 
a  democratic  government,  of  moderation  of  any 
description,  if  it  once  abandons  the  policy  of 
laissezfaire,  and  undertakes  to  be  a  providence 
for  the  masses.  There  is  no  limit  to  the  human 
appetite  for  unearned  or  easily  earned  money. 
No  class  is  exempt  from  it.  Under  the  old 


252  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

regime,  the  aristocrats  got  all  the  sinecures,  the 
pensions,  and  the  light  jobs  of  every  description. 
One  of  the  results  of  the  triumph  of  democracy 
has  been  to  throw  open  this  source  of  gratifica- 
tion to  the  multitude,  and  every  attempt  made 
to  satisfy  the  multitude,  in  this  field,  has  failed. 
When  the  French  opened  the  national  workshops 
in  Paris  in  1848,  the  government  speedily  found 
that  it  was  likely  to  have  the  whole  working 
class  of  Paris  on  its  hands ;  when  we  started  our 
pension  list,  we  found  that  peace  soon  became 
nearly  as  expensive  as  war ;  and  when  the  Aus- 
tralians undertook  to  develop  the  country  on 
money  borrowed  by  the  state,  there  was  no  re- 
straint on  their  expenditure,  except  the  inability 
to  find  any  more  lenders.  The  Australian  finan- 
cial crisis  was  brought  about,  not  by  any  popular 
perception  that  the  day  of  reckoning  was  at 
hand,  but  by  the  refusal  of  the  British  capital- 
ists to  make  further  loans. 

It  is  in  devices  for  the  protection  of  labor 
that  most  of  this  experimentation  occurs.  New 
Zealand  affords  the  best  example  of  it.  It  pro- 
vides elaborate  legal  protection  for  the  eight- 
hour  day.  A  workman  cannot  consent  to  work 
overtime  without  extra  pay.  The  state  sees 
that  he  gets  the  extra  pay.  It  looks  closely 
after  the  condition  of  women  and  children  in 
the  factories.  It  sees  that  servant  girls  are  not 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  253 

overcharged  by  the  registry  offices  for  getting 
them  places.  It  prescribes  one  half-holiday  a 
week  for  all  persons  employed  in  stores  and 
offices,  and  sees  that  they  take  it.  It  will  not 
allow  even  a  shopkeeper  who  has  no  employees 
to  dispense  with  his  half -holiday ;  because  if  he 
does  not  take  it,  his  competition  will  injure 
those  who  do.  The  "  labor  department "  of  the 
government  has  an  army  of  inspectors,  who  keep 
a  close  watch  on  stores  and  factories,  and  prose- 
cute violations  of  the  law  which  they  themselves 
discover.  They  do  not  wait  for  complaints; 
they  ferret  out  infractions,  so  that  the  laborer 
may  not  have  to  prejudice  himself  by  making 
charges.  The  department  publishes  a  "journal" 
once  a  month,  which  gives  detailed  reports  of 
the  condition  of  the  labor  market  in  all  parts  of 
the  colony,  and  of  the  prosecutions  which  have 
taken  place  anywhere  of  employers  who  have 
violated  the  law.  It  provides  insurance  for  old 
age  and  early  death,  and  guarantees  every  policy. 
It  gives  larger  policies  for  lower  premiums  than 
any  of  the  private  offices,  and  depreciates  the 
private  offices  in  its  documents.  It  distributes 
the  profits  of  its  business  as  bonuses  among  the 
policy  holders,  and  keeps  a  separate  account  for 
teetotalers,  so  that  they  may  get  special  advan- 
tages from  their  abstinence.  The  "journal" 
is,  in  fact,  in  a  certain  sense  a  labor  manual,  in 


254  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

which  everything  pertaining  to  the  comfort  of 
labor  is  freely  discussed.  The  poor  accommoda- 
tion provided  for  servants  in  hotels  and  restau- 
rants is  deplored,  and  so  is  the  difficulty  which 
middle-aged  men  have  in  finding  employment. 
More  attention  to  the  morals  and  manners  of 
nursemaids  is  recommended.  All  the  little 
dodges  of  employers  are  exposed  and  punished. 
If  they  keep  the  factory  door  fastened,  they  are 
fined.  If  housekeepers  pretend  that  their  ser- 
vants are  lodgers,  and  therefore  not  liable  to  a 
compulsory  half -holiday,  they  are  fined.  If 
manufacturers  are  caught  allowing  girls  to  take 
their  meals  in  a  workshop,  they  are  fined. 

As  far  as  I  can  make  out,  too,  without  visit- 
ing the  country,  there  is  as  yet  no  sign  of  re- 
action against  this  minute  paternal  care  of  the 
laborer.  The  tendency  to  use  the  powers  of 
the  government  chiefly  for  the  promotion  of  the 
comfort  of  the  working  classes,  whether  in  the 
matter  of  land  settlement,  education,  or  employ- 
ment, seems  to  undergo  no  diminution.  The 
only  thing  which  has  ceased  or  slackened  is  the 
borrowing  of  money  for  improvements.  The 
results  of  this  borrowing  have  been  so  disastrous 
that  the  present  generation,  at  least,  will  hardly 
try  that  experiment  again.  Every  new  country 
possessing  a  great  body  of  undeveloped  resources, 
like  those  of  the  North  American  continent  and 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  255 

of  Australia,  must  rely  largely  on  foreign  capital 
for  the  working  of  its  mines  and  the  making  of 
its  railroads.  In  this  country  all  that  work  has 
been  left  to  private  enterprise,  or,  in  other  words, 
to  the  activity  of  individuals  and  corporations. 
Apart  from  some  recent  land-grants  to  railroads 
and  the  sale  of  public  lands  at  low  rates,  it  may 
be  said  that  our  government  has  done  nothing 
whatever  to  promote  the  growth  of  the  national 
wealth  and  population.  The  battle  with  nature, 
on  this  continent,  has  been  fought  mainly  by 
individuals.  The  state,  in  America,  has  con- 
tented itself,  from  the  earliest  times,  with  sup- 
plying education  and  security.  Down  to  a  very 
recent  period  the  American  was  distinguished 
from  the  men  of  all  other  countries,  for  looking 
to  the  government  for  nothing  but  protection 
to  life  and  property.  Tocqueville  remarked 
strongly  on  this,  when  he  visited  the  United 
States  in  the  thirties.  This  habit  has  been  a 
good  deal  broken  up  by  the  growth  of  the  wage- 
earning  class  since  the  war,  by  the  greatly  in- 
creased reliance  on  the  tariff,  and  by  the  gov- 
ernment issue  of  paper  money  during  the 
rebellion.  In  the  eyes  of  many,  these  things 
have  worked  a  change  in  the  national  character. 
But  we  are  still  a  great  distance  from  the  Aus- 
tralian policy.  The  development  of  the  country 
by  the  state,  in  the  Australian  sense,  has  only 


256  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

recently  entered  into  the  heads  of  our  labor  and 
socialist  agitators.  The  American  plan  has  hith- 
erto been  to  facilitate  private  activity,  to  make 
rising  in  the  world  easy  for  the  energetic  indi- 
vidual, and  to  load  him  with  praise  and  influence 
after  he  has  risen.  This  policy  has  been  pur- 
sued so  far  that,  in  the  opinion  of  many,  the 
individual  has  become  too  powerful,  and  the 
government  too  subservient  to  private  interests. 
There  are  in  fact  few,  if  any,  states  in  the  Union 
which  are  not  said  to  be  dominated  by  rich  men 
or  rich  corporations. 

This  is  a  not  unnatural  result  of  two  things. 
One  is,  as  I  have  said,  our  having  left  the  devel- 
opment of  the  country  almost  wholly  to  private 
enterprises.  It  is  individual  capitalists  who 
have  worked  the  mines,  made  the  railroads,  in- 
vited the  immigrants,  and  lent  them  money  to 
improve  their  farms.  The  other  is  the  restric- 
tions which  the  state  constitutions,  and  the 
courts  construing  them,  place  on  the  use  of  the 
taxes.  There  are  very  few  things  the  state  in 
America  can  constitutionally  do  with  its  revenue, 
compared  with  what  European  governments  can 
do.  Aids  to  education  are  tolerated,  because 
education  is  supposed  to  equip  men  more  thor- 
oughly for  the  battle  of  life,  but  the  American 
public  shrinks  from  any  other  use  of  the  public 
funds  for  private  benefit.  We  give  little  or  no 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  257 

help  to  art,  or  literature,  or  charity,  or  hospitals. 
We  lend  no  money.  We  issued  legal  tender 
paper  under  many  protests  and  in  a  time  of 
great  national  trial,  have  never  ceased  to  regret 
it,  and  shall  probably  never  do  it  again.  We  are 
angry  when  we  find  that  any  one  enjoys  com- 
forts or  luxury  at  the  expense  of  the  state.  We 
cannot  bear  sinecures.  But  our  plunge  into 
pensions  since  the  war  shows  that  there  now 
exists  among  us  the  same  strong  tendency  to  get 
things  out  of  the  state,  and  to  rely  on  its 
bounty,  which  prevails  in  Australia.  It  is  diffi- 
cult to  resist  the  conclusion  that  at  present  we 
owe  a  good  deal  of  what  remains  of  laissez  faire 
in  our  policy  to  our  constitutions  and  courts. 
We  owe  the  constitutions  and  the  courts  to  the 
habits  formed  in  an  earlier  stage  of  American 
history.  It  was  the  bad  or  good  fortune  of  the 
Australian  colonies  to  enter  on  political  life  just 
as  the  let-alone  policy  was  declining  under  the 
influence  of  the  humanitarian  feeling  which  the 
rise  of  the  democracy  has  brought  with  it  every- 
where. More  constitution  than  was  supplied  by 
the  enabling  acts  of  the  British  Parliament  was 
never  thought  of,  and  the  British  Parliament 
did  not  think  of  imposing  any  restraints  on 
legislation  except  those  which  long  custom  or 
British  opinion  imposed  on  Parliament  itself. 
The  result  is  that  Australia  is  absolutely  free 


258  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

to  democratic  experimentation  under  extremely 
favorable  circumstances.  In  each  colony  the 
state  has  apparently  existed  for  the  benefit  of 
the  working  classes,  who  must  always  constitute 
the  majority  of  the  people  in  every  community, 
and  the  masses  have  been  provided  with  work 
and  protection,  in  complete  disregard  of  Euro- 
pean traditions.  The  experiment  has  turned  out 
pretty  well,  owing  to  the  abundance  of  land,  the 
natural  wealth  of  the  country,  and  the  fineness 
of  the  climate.  But  each  colony  is  forming  its 
political  habits,  and  I  cannot  resist  the  conclu- 
sion that  some  of  them  are  habits  which  are 
likely  to  plague  the  originators  hereafter.  For 
instance,  the  task  of  finding  work  for  the  un- 
employed, and  borrowing  money  for  the  purpose, 
though  this  generation  has  seen  it  fail  utterly  in 
the  first  trial,  will  probably  be  resorted  to  again, 
with  no  more  fortunate  results.  Nor  can  I  be- 
lieve that  the  growing  paternalism,  the  sedulous 
care  of  the  business  interests  of  the  masses,  will 
not  end  by  diminishing  self-reliance,  and  increas- 
ing dependence  on  the  state. 

The  worst  effects  of  these  two  agencies,  of 
course,  in  a  country  of  such  wonderful  resources 
as  Australia,  must  be  long  postponed.  There 
are  hindrances  to  progress  in  the  direction 
of  pure  "  collectivism  "  yet  in  existence,  many 
problems  to  be  solved,  Old  World  influences  to 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  259 

be  got  rid  of,  before  Australia  finds  herself  per- 
fectly free  from  the  trammels  which  the  regime 
of  competition  still  throws  around  every  modern 
society.  But  so  far  as  I  can  judge  from  the 
accounts  of  even  the  most  impartial  observers, 
every  tendency  which  is  causing  us  anxiety  or 
alarm  here  is  at  work  there,  without  any  hin- 
drance from  constitutions  ;  though  there  is  great 
comfort  among  the  people,  and  there  is  a  hope- 
fulness which  cannot  but  exist  in  any  new  coun- 
try with  immense  areas  of  vacant  land  and  a 
rapidly  growing  population. 

One  check  to  all  leveling  tendencies  is  the 
extremely  strong  hold  which  the  competitive  sys- 
tem has  taken  of  the  Anglo-Saxon  race.  There 
is  no  other  race  in  which  there  is  still  so  much 
of  the  rude  energy  of  the  earlier  world,  in 
which  men  have  such  joy  in  rivalry  and  find  it 
so  hard  to  surrender  personal  advantages.  This 
renders  communal  life  of  any  kind,  or  any  spe- 
cies of  enforced  equality,  exceedingly  difficult. 
It  will  probably  endanger  the  permanence  of  all 
the  social  experimentation  in  Australia,  as  soon 
as  this  experimentation  plainly  gives  evidence  of 
bestowing  special  advantages  on  the  weak,  or 
lazy,  or  unenterprising.  There  is  not  in  Austra- 
lia the  same  extravagant  admiration  of  wealth 
as  a  sign  of  success  that  there  is  here,  but  there 
are  signs  of  its  coming.  The  state  has  under- 


260  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

taken  to  do  so  many  things,  however,  through 
which  individuals  make  fortunes  here,  that  its 
coming  may  be  slow.  The  wealthy  Australian, 
who  dislikes  rude  colonial  ways,  and  prefers  to 
live  in  England,  is  already  a  prominent  figure  in 
London  society,  and,  like  the  rich  Europeanized 
American,  he  is  an  object  of  great  reprobation 
to  the  plain  Australian,  who  has  not  yet  "  made 
his  pile  "  and  cannot  go  abroad.  Then  there  is 
a  steady  growth  of  national  pride,  which  is  dis- 
playing itself  in  all  sorts  of  ways,  —  in  litera- 
ture, art,  and  above  all  athletics,  as  well  as  in 
trade  and  commerce.  The  development  of  ath- 
letic and  sporting  tastes  generally  is  greater 
than  elsewhere,  and  competition  is  the  life  of 
athletics.  An  athlete  is  of  little  account  until 
he  has  beaten  somebody  in  something.  "  The 
record  "  is  the  record  of  superiority  of  somebody 
in  something  over  other  people.  The  "  duffer  " 
is  the  man  who  can  never  win  anything.  The 
climate  helps  to  foster  these  tastes,  and  the 
abundance  of  everything  makes  the  cultivation 
of  them  easy ;  but  they  are  tastes  which  must 
always  make  the  sinking  of  superiority  —  or,  in 
other  words,  any  communal  system  —  difficult. 
Australia  may  develop  a  higher  type  of  charac- 
ter or  better  equipment  for  the  battle  of  life, 
and  more  numerous  opportunities,  but  it  is 
hardly  likely  to  develop  any  new  form  of  society. 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  261 

When  the  struggle  grows  keener,  we  are  not 
likely  to  see  a  corresponding  growth  of  state 
aid. 

The  very  rapidity  of  the  experimentation  now 
going  on  promises  to  bring  about  illuminating 
crises  earlier  there  than  here.  Probably  we 
shall  not  get  our  currency  experience  here  for 
many  years  to  come.  Were  the  Australians 
engaged  in  trying  our  problem,  they  would  reach 
a  solution  in  one  or  two  years.  We  are  likely  in 
the  next  hundred  years  to  see  a  great  many  new 
social  ventures  tried,  something  which  the  wreck 
of  authority  makes  almost  inevitable  ;  but  there 
seems  no  reason  to  believe  that  the  desire  of  the 
Anglo-Saxon  variety  of  human  nature  to  profit 
by  superiority  in  any  quality  will  disappear. 
The  cabinet  system  of  government  is  in  itself 
a  strong  support  to  individuality,  for  reasons  I 
have  already  given. 

Another  steadying  influence  in  Australia,  per- 
haps one  of  the  most  powerful  in  a  democratic 
community,  is  the  press.  The  press,  from  all  I 
can  learn,  is  still  serious,  able,  and  influential. 
It  gives  very  large  space  to  athletics  and  similar 
amusements,  but  seems  to  have  retained  a  high 
and  potent  position  in  the  discussions  of  the  day. 
The  love  of  triviality  which  has  descended  on 
the  American  press  like  a  flood,  since  the  war, 
has  apparently  passed  by  that  of  Australia.  Why 


262  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

this  should  he,  I  confess  I  have  not  heen  ahle 
to  discover,  and  can  hardly  conjecture.  If  we 
judge  by  what  has  happened  in  America,  it 
would  be  easy  to  conclude  that  the  press  in  all 
democracies  is  sure  to  become  somewhat  puerile, 
easily  occupied  with  small  things,  and  prone  to 
flippant  treatment  of  great  subjects.  This  is 
true  of  the  French  press,  in  a  way ;  but  in  that 
case  something  of  the  tendency  may  be  ascribed 
to  temperament,  and  something  to  want  of  prac- 
tice in  self-government.  I  cannot  see  any  signs 
of  it  in  the  country  press  in  England.  That, 
so  far  as  I  have  been  able  to  observe,  continues 
grave,  decorous,  and  mature.  There  is  nothing 
of  the  boyish  spirit  in  it  which  pervades  much  of 
our  journalism.  The  weight  which  still  attaches 
to  the  tastes  and  opinions  of  an  educated  upper 
class  may  account  for  this  in  some  degree,  but 
the  fact  is  that  Australian  journals  have  pre- 
served these  very  characteristics,  although  the 
beginnings  of  Australian  journalism  were  as  bad 
as  possible.  Its  earliest  editing  was  done  by  ex- 
convicts,  and  the  journals  which  these  men  set 
on  foot  were  very  like  those  that  have  the  worst 
reputation  among  us  for  venality  and  triviality. 
Strange  to  say,  the  community  did  not  sit  down 
under  them.  There  was  an  immediate  rising 
against  this  sort  of  editors  in  New  South  Wales. 
Their  control  of  leading  newspapers  was  treated 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  263 

as  a  scandal  too  great  to  be  borne,  and  they  were 
driven  out  of  the  profession.  The  newspapers 
then  passed  largely  into  the  hands  of  young  uni- 
versity men  who  had  come  out  from  England  to 
seek  their  fortunes ;  they  gave  journalism  a  tone 
which  has  lasted  till  now.  The  opinions  of  the 
press  still  count  in  politics.  It  can  still  discredit 
or  overthrow  a  ministry,  because  the  duration  of 
a  ministry  depends  on  the  opinion  of  the  legisla- 
ture, and  that,  in  turn,  depends  on  the  opinion 
of  the  public.  There  can  be  no  defiant  boss, 
indifferent  to  what  the  public  thinks,  provided 
he  has  "  got  the  delegates."  In  fact,  the  Aus- 
tralian system  seems  better  adapted  to  the  main- 
tenance of  really  independent  and  influential 
journals  than  ours.  The  fixed  terms  of  execu- 
tive officers  and  the  boss  system  of  nomination 
are  almost  fatal  to  newspaper  power.  So  long 
as  results  cannot  be  achieved  quickly,  the  influ- 
ence of  the  press  must  be  feeble. 

Of  course,  in  speaking  of  a  country  which  one 
does  not  know  personally,  one  must  speak  very 
cautiously.  All  impressions  one  gets  from  books 
need  correction  by  actual  observation,  particu- 
larly in  the  case  of  a  country  in  which  changes 
are  so  rapid  as  in  Australia.  Of  this  rapidity 
every  traveler  and  writer  I  have  consulted  makes 
mention,  and  every  traveler  soon  finds  his  book 
out  of  date.  Sir  Charles  Dilke  visited  Australia 


264  THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY 

about  1870,  but  writing  in  1890  he  dwells  on 
the  enormous  differences  of  every  kind  which 
twenty  years  had  brought  about.  The  latest 
work  on  Australia,  Mr.  Walker's  "Australasian 
Democracy,"  gives  as  an  illustration  of  this  tran- 
sientness  of  everything  the  fact  that  the  three 
colonies  of  New  South  Wales,  South  Australia, 
and  Victoria  have  had  respectively  twenty-eight, 
forty-two,  and  twenty-six  ministries  in  forty  years. 
One  can  readily  imagine  how  many  changes  of 
policy  on  all  sorts  of  subjects,  and  how  many 
changes  of  men,  these  figures  represent.  All 
travelers,  too,  bear  testimony  to  the  optimism  of 
the  people  in  every  colony.  Nothing  is  more 
depressing  in  a  new  country  than  officialism,  or 
management  of  public  affairs  by  irresponsible 
rulers.  From  this  the  Anglo-Saxons  have  always 
enjoyed  freedom  in  their  new  countries.  The 
result  has  always  been  free  play  for  individual 
energy  and  initiative;  and  with  boundless  re- 
sources, as  in  America  and  Australia,  these  quali- 
ties are  sure  to  bring  cheerfulness  of  tempera- 
ment. The  mass  of  men  are  better  off  each 
year,  mistakes  are  not  serious,  mutual  helpfulness 
is  the  leading  note  of  the  community,  nobody  is 
looked  down  on  by  anybody,  and  public  opinion 
is  all  powerful.  In  Australia  there  is  more 
reason  for  this,  as  yet,  than  with  us.  The  Aus- 
tralians are  not  tormented  by  a  race  question, 


THE  AUSTRALIAN  DEMOCRACY  265 

they  have  never  had  any  civil  strife,  and  they 
have  not  yet  come  into  contact  with  that  greatest 
difficulty  of  large  democracies,  the  difficulty  of 
communicating  to  the  mass  common  ideas  and 
impulses. 

NOTE.  As  I  have  endeavored  to  give  in  this  chapter  impres- 
sions rather  than  facts,  I  have  not  thought  it  worth  while  to  cite 
authorities  for  all  my  statements.  I  will  simply  say  that  I  have 
formed  these  impressions  from  the  perusal  of  the  following 
works  :  The  Australian  Colonies  in  1896,  E.  A.  Petherick,  1897 ; 
New  Zealand  Rulers  and  Statesmen,  1840-97,  William  Gisborne  ; 
Oceana,  J.  A.  Froude,  1886  ;  Queensland,  Rev.  John  D.  Lang, 
D.  D.,  1864  ;  The  Coming  Commonwealth,  R.  R.  Garlan,  1897  ; 
The  Australians,  Francis  Adams,  1893  ;  The  Land  of  Gold, 
Julius  M.  Price,  1896  ;  New  Zealand  Official  Year  Book,  1897  ; 
Reports  of  Department  of  Labor,  1893-97  ;  Journal  of  1897; 
Problems  of  Greater  Britain,  Sir  Charles  Dilke,  1890  ;  Historical 
and  Statistical  Account  of  New  South  Wales,  Dr.  Lang,  1875  ; 
Thirty  Years  of  Colonial  Government,  Sir  G.  F.  Bowen,  1889  ; 
Australian  Democracy,  Henry  de  R.  Walker,  1897  ;  History  of 
New  Zealand,  G.  W.  Rusden,  1891 ;  Western  Australian  Blue 
Book. 


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